


Escalation

by DestielTheShipOfDreams



Series: Fallen and Falling [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Almost Kiss, Alternate Season/Series 09, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel and Dean Winchester Go Shopping, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel is Ariel fight me, Castiel is a Sap in Love, Cockblock Sam, Dean Winchester is Protective of Castiel, Dean Winchester is a Good Cook, Dean is In Over His Head, Dean is not homophobic, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eventual Romance, Facial Shaving, Flirting, Human Castiel, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Jealous Castiel, Kevin Ships It, Kevin is So Done, Long, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Morning Wood, Mother Hen Dean, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Castiel/Daphne, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Sam Ships It, Sam is a Little Shit, Seductive Castiel, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Sparring, Texting, Touch-Starved, Whipped Cream, cas isn't totally clueless, emotional honesty, exploring the technicalities of grace, vicarious gay panic??? kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-10-29 18:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10859286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielTheShipOfDreams/pseuds/DestielTheShipOfDreams
Summary: Castiel is newly human and living in the bunker. Dean is just trying to be a supportive friend, but the closer he gets to the former angel, the harder it becomes to avoid what has always been simmering between them... S9 Destiel, canon up until the angels falling but branches off after that, slow burn (well, detailed and sluggish but let's call that slow burn).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy. So this is one of the fics I'm copying across from ff.net. BUT where the others are manageable little things, this is a 40-odd chapter monster fic and it is STILL ongoing and probably will be for the foreseeable future. This is my life these are my choices :'(  
> Anyway, I have a lot of love for this story and my faithful readers over on ff.net do too, so I hope it pleases y'all on AO3 as well! It basically starts off where Season 9 began but erases the whole Hael and April bullshit saga. Cas just... went to the bunker with no real drama. Much better.  
> I'll put chapters up pretty regularly but I don't want to upload it all at once so if you like it, bookmark it and more shall come :) xxx

The nightmares start on the first night I’m in the bunker. It’s not the first time I’ve slept as a human, but the other time was almost forty eight hours after the angels fell, when I finally succumbed to physical exhaustion in a random bus shelter. So that time was less falling asleep, more passing out.

 

Dean is apologetic when he finally comes to get me, late in the evening of my third day after becoming human. He only does so once I get within a few hours’ drive of the bunker. He explains why, outlining the situation with Ezekiel and Sam, warning me that it has to be a secret for now. I’m wary and confused and shamefully, a little jealous that another angel has entered the lives of my human family and helped them where I no longer can. But Sam will die otherwise. Dean and I can definitely agree on that not being an option.

 

Kevin isn’t there when we arrive at the bunker. Dean explains that he’s away on a trip because he was feeling claustrophobic, and that he should be back in a few days. I can see the worry in his eyes when he talks about the troubled young prophet, but there was never much I could do for Kevin even when I was still in full power. After taking a much needed shower, very clumsily, and recounting my hitchhiking adventure to Dean and Sam (and apparently Ezekiel), I find that my eyelids are drooping. Dean squeezes my shoulder gently and smiles his fondest smile; it always gives me an odd, softening sort of feeling, which is only more intense as a human.

 

“Sleepy?” he asks teasingly. I nod and then frown.

 

“How does one go to sleep properly? Is there a night time ritual before going to bed? I’m sure there is.”

 

Dean chuckles, green eyes amused. “I guess brushing teeth and changing clothes is the main stuff?”

 

Sam pipes up from across the table. “You do know how to brush your teeth, right Cas?”

 

I shake my head slowly and the brothers look at each other, grinning. “Aw, bless.”

 

They take me to the bathroom, find me a spare toothbrush and show me how to squeeze out the right amount of toothpaste, use the correct angles and pressure on my teeth, and how to spit and rinse. Wiping my mouth and marveling at the tingling freshness inside it, I thank them with a smile. Dean hesitantly reaches out and wipes a smear of stray toothpaste away from my chin with a rough thumb. I feel my head growing oddly light as his eyes hold mine; that’s new. I can sense that I’m blushing, which I was always able to stop at will when I had my grace. That’s new. Sam sniggers at us. That’s not new.

 

Dean seems in a hurry to leave after that, so after I’ve performed the unpleasant task of using the toilet, Sam shows me to a spare bedroom. I’m wearing the boxers, old jeans and thin t-shirt that one of the brothers left for me in the bathroom after my shower. The shirt must be Dean’s because it has a rock band logo on it. I gaze at Sam the whole time he’s speaking, trying to discern any sign of my old ally Ezekiel, but the angel inside the flesh is well hidden. I hope he’s doing a good job of healing Sam.

 

I pull the jeans off in the stark, box-like spare room Sam’s left me in, yawning uncontrollably as I crawl underneath the sheets and switch off the bedside lamp. A dark, heavy feeling is rolling over me as I close my aching eyes. It scares me a little, but I try to relax.

 

The next thing I’m fully aware of is sitting upright in the bed, sweating and shaking and gasping. The fear and horror pulsing through me is overwhelming. The images still swimming through my mind are memories, my worst memories, of all the times I’ve killed my own brethren, all the pain I’ve caused. But mixed in are visions which I know aren’t real. The most vivid one of these is Dean, mangled and dead in my arms, his soul swallowed up again by Hell with me powerless to go and save it.

 

I scramble out of bed, not sure what I’m doing but feeling what must be panic. My body is weak and trembling and I’m cold, yet sweaty. This can’t be how sleep is for all humans, a parade of nightmarish images and emotions...

 

I freeze. Of course, a nightmare. A bad dream. I’ve heard of them, but I never realised how torturous they were. How do humans sleep if they get nightmares? All the dark, crippling things in my mind have just attacked me at once and as I’m rapidly realising, being human comes with a much looser grip on my reactions. I feel tears choking me, blinding me as I stumble towards the door, barely able to drag in a breath before I yank it open and stagger up the hallway. Logically, I know that the bedroom is not the source of the terror, but logic doesn’t seem to reach me as well now that my grace is gone. I come to halt after turning the corner and I slump against a door, hitting it more heavily than I meant to.

 

Leaning against the solid surface, I take deep breaths and unsteadily wipe the tears away from my face, swallowing. I’m just starting to feel like I’m definitely calming down when the door opens abruptly and I yell with shock as I fall through it, flailing wildly.

 

Strong arms catch me and I’m left hanging limply from them, eyes squeezed shut and heart hammering loudly in my ears. I never allowed it to beat this fast as an angel and it feels like it might stop at any moment. I’m suddenly hit with how fragile and breakable and vulnerable I am and I gasp out a sob, fresh tears stinging my eyes. What is happening? Is this the normal human experience? It’s ridiculous.

 

“Cas?” Dean’s familiar voice makes my eyes snap open and I scramble upright, grabbing handfuls of his shirt as I twist to face him. His eyes glow with the faintest green imaginable in the dim lighting from his bedside lamp and he’s staring at me with shock and suspicion. I yank him closer until we’re almost nose to nose. I’m not sure why; I’m just intensely glad to see him and I’m not currently able to control the old, deep-seated need to be physically near him. Dean is everything that’s good in my life, and he knows how to be human. He’ll help me.

 

His eyes are wide open and I hear his breath catch. His hands are still on my elbows, fingers digging in. He swallows, gaze fixed on mine, and leans back a few inches.

 

“What’s going on?” he asks urgently. I sniff and slowly release one hand from his shirt, knowing that I’ve left the thin cotton damp with sweat. It’s not even a warm night. Why would I be sweating? Nothing about my reaction to my nightmare is making much sense to me. Smearing my tears across my cheekbone with the heel of my palm, I take a deep breath, staring down at Dean’s broad chest.

 

“I had a nightmare,” I mumble, my voice thick and shaky. I glance back up at Dean and uncurl my other fist from his shirt, wiping it hastily on my own and then repeating my attempt to dash away my tears. He’s staring at me with his mouth slightly open, his expression torn between disbelief and concern. Finally, his shoulders relax and he looks me up and down.

 

“You had a nightmare?” he repeats. I nod miserably. I’m starting to think more clearly and I can see that I’ve overreacted. Nightmares must be a fairly typical part of sleeping. I mutter an apology, feeling humiliated, and I try to step back but Dean’s grip on my upper arms stops me. He speaks sadly, eyes full of sympathy.

 

“No, Cas, it’s OK. Nightmares suck. If you’ve never had one before... Well, with the shit you’ve been through, it must have been bad.”

 

The worst image hits me again, Dean lost and suffering beyond my reach, and I feel myself crumple, unable to hold back the damnable tears. How do the Winchesters keep such tight reins on their emotions? I feel like I have no control whatsoever. I choke in surprise as Dean abruptly pulls me into a hug, one arm tight around my upper back and the other hand warm on the back of my head. He whispers my name into my hair and rocks me gently and I screw up my face into his shoulder, throwing my arms around his waist, feeling his torso firm and reassuring against mine. We stand like that for what feels like a long time, but when he pulls away it’s too soon.

 

“You’re a mess,” Dean informs me with a little smile, but I actually feel much better. I don’t know what my facial expression is as I stare at him, but he clears his throat and looks away, dropping his hands from my elbows.

 

“Thank you,” I murmur, only realising after I say it that it sounds like I’m thanking him for calling me a mess; I meant to thank him for the comfort. I take a shuddering breath and wrap my arms around myself, blinking away the stray tears left on my eyelashes. My mouth tastes of salt, my eyes feel sticky and achy and the cold air is making me shiver without Dean’s arms around me. He’s gazing at me with clear concern and I stare back, waiting for him to dismiss me as always. The thought upsets me more than usual but I can’t seem to remember how to mask the sadness in my eyes. It used to be so easy.

 

“I’ve never seen you like this, man,” he finally says, rubbing nervous hands on his boxer-clad thighs. “Not even close. Never even seen you cry. Being human is pretty rough for you, huh?”

 

I shrug wearily. “I’m just having control issues. I used to be able to keep it all locked up. Now that I’m human, it’s like I’m ruled by everything I feel. I’m sorry, Dean, you’re right... I’m a mess.”

 

My voice is hoarse and to my deep annoyance, I feel even more tears gather. I dash them away angrily, sighing loudly, then run a hand through my hair. The tugging on my scalp feels good and clears my mind a little, so I do it again with both hands, shutting my eyes and drawing in a steady breath through my mouth. When I drop my hands and open my eyes I feel a little calmer, but Dean is staring at me with a blank, distracted look on his face. I tilt my head at him, concerned.

 

“Dean, are you alright?”

 

He blinks and clears his throat again. “Yeah. Yeah. So, you OK to go back to bed now?”

 

The fear creeps up again before I can brace myself and I twist my fingers together as I glance back up the hallway towards my bedroom. I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here. Dean makes me feel better than anything else. I look back up at him, eyes pleading, and he begins to shake his head, stepping back.

 

“Oh, no, Cas...”

 

“Please,” I interrupt him, unable to stop myself. It’s shameful that I’m begging but Dean has been reducing me to this since we met, it’s just never been so obvious before. He frowns at me, looking pained, then sighs and nods shortly, turning on his heel and stalking towards his bed. Sagging with relief, I close the door behind me and almost jog to the other side of the bed, sliding under the covers just as he does. I feel much more selfish as a human, probably because I’m much more vulnerable, so I break one of Dean’s sacred rules without a second thought.

 

Screw personal space.

 

As soon as he lies back against the pillow, I scoot over until my entire side is pressed against his and I’m bathed in his warmth and his familiar-yet-new scent. He tenses and mutters a protest but I ignore him. It’s not like we’re cuddling, I have enough control to stop myself from being that needy. Folding my hands across my stomach, I close my eyes and relax my tired muscles, breathing deeply and evenly. After several minutes, the body next to me does the same.

 

I smile freely in the dark, my wayward emotions swinging dizzily from fear and panic into utter contentment. This is where I want to be.


	2. Chapter 2

I fall asleep so easily that I almost feel like no time has passed when I open my eyes again. However, despite the lack of daylight to show me that it’s hours later, I’m immediately aware that I’ve been asleep because I’ve somehow moved, with no memory of doing so.

 

Instead of lying neatly on my back, I’m sprawled on my stomach, face pressed against the outside of a warm, cotton-clad shoulder. I have one arm wedged under my pillow and the other draped heavily across the abdomen of the body attached to said shoulder.

 

Blinking blearily and pulling my head back, I see that Dean is still on his back, head lolling away from me and resting on the arm that’s raised and folded behind it. His other arm is trapped beneath my stomach, fingers curled around my hip, wrist pressed dangerously close to an area which is already presenting troubling behaviour. I shift and bite back a moan as my semi-erection rubs against the mattress. Is this part of sleep too? Or is this part of being close to Dean for a prolonged period of time? I scowl to myself. Bad enough that my emotions are defying my control, but if I can no longer ignore and suppress my physical attraction to Dean then I really am in trouble. I concentrate hard, but my ability to banish an erection appears to have been yet another useful perk of my grace.

 

Sighing, I decide to wait for a while and see if it goes away by itself. I’m aware of what can be done to solve the problem, but I’m also fairly certain that it’s considered rude to masturbate in the presence of another human. I close my eyes and the idle thought of touching that part of me in Dean’s bed, next to Dean himself, sends shivers of heat across my skin. My eyes flash open in shocked dismay; the problem just got abruptly worse. I swear in an annoyed half-whisper and then freeze as Dean twitches awake with a throaty noise and a small stretching movement. The stretch drags his arm against sensitive, engorged flesh through the thin layer of my boxers and I smash my face into the mattress to swear again, before sliding clumsily down and away from Dean. When I look up again, he’s staring at me with sleepy surprise in his verdant eyes.

 

“Shit, Cas, I forgot you were here,” he says simply, voice deep and thick. His hand freed from beneath me, he stretches both arms above his head, the sheets slipping down to pool at his waist. I eye his t shirt-clad torso and flexed biceps distractedly, shifting uncomfortably. It’s definitely not going away. I miss my grace so much. At least he didn’t appear to notice that he touched my erection, however briefly. I fold my arms beneath my cheek and frown at him from the far side of the bed, watching as he settles with his arms still resting above his head. He gazes at me, his expression slightly wary. I stare back and think grumpily, not for the first time ever, that he’s really beautiful immediately after waking. This doesn’t please me. I need him to stop being appealing, just for five minutes, so that my overly excitable human body can sort itself out.

 

“You were swearing,” he finally says quietly. He smirks and looks up at the ceiling. “You hardly ever swear.”

 

I shrug carefully and my voice comes out tense and throaty. “Maybe it’s a human thing.”

 

He continues to stare upwards, looking thoughtful. “So human you is emotionally unstable, clingy, and grumpy in the mornings. Good to know.”

 

My frown deepens, but my annoyed mood is finally wearing my physical predicament down, to my relief. “I make a pretty awful human, then.”

 

Dean glances at me, contrition flickering across his stubbled face. “Sorry, Cas. That’s not what I meant, you’re fine. You’re adjusting, that’s all.”

 

I smile slightly, shifting my head on my arms, and his answering smile turns to a slight grin as he gazes at me with disarming affection. His soft eyes move across my face and linger on my messy hair. He opens his mouth to say something and then shuts it again, cheeks flushing as he turns away and sits up. My eyes follow him as he swings his legs out and stands, his back to me. I suddenly realise that I’m no longer hard at all and I blow out a breath in relief, my whole body relaxing.

 

Now that my inconvenient human physiology is no longer bothering me, I feel weirdly happy as I watch Dean wander across the room and pull his robe on, belting it securely. Stretching my arms above my head and pressing my face into the bed, I inhale Dean’s smell - different now that I’m human, yet somehow the same - and grin, closing my eyes again. I hear Dean clear his throat.

 

“You getting up?”

 

“Yes,” I mumble, turning my head just enough to make the words audible. “I just really enjoy being in your bed.”

 

There’s a short silence before Dean replies, voice cracking oddly. “For fuck’s sake, Cas. Still no trouble saying weird shit, then.”

 

I roll over and sit up, cocking my head in confusion. “What’s weird?”

 

“You, Cas, always,” he says wryly, shaking his head, but his eyes are warm on me. “OK, well once you feel up to it, come grab breakfast. And, um, don’t mention to Sam that you slept in here, yeah?”

 

I’m already clambering out of bed; my stomach is growling at the mention of food. I’m sort of impressed by how efficiently it responds to any kind of stimulus, even if it’s not always the way I want it to. I squint at Dean, puzzled by his request.

 

“Why, Dean?”

 

He dithers on the spot, face tense. “Just don’t. He’ll be weird about it.”

 

“I was upset and you helped me. I’m very grateful, by the way. That’s not weird.”

 

“Cas!” Dean explodes, glaring, green eyes acidic. “Just fucking don’t say anything, alright?”

 

I wrinkle my nose but nod unhappily. “Fine. I don’t like lying to Sam though, especially when we’re already lying about Ezekiel.”

 

Dean looks pained at that, but he shrugs jerkily. “Lying is an important part of being human.”

 

I roll my eyes and walk past him, opening the door wide to step into the hallway. I immediately freeze. Sam is walking past, stretching linked fingers behind his back, but he stops short at the sight of me. His eyes and mouth widen comically and my stomach feels suddenly heavy and tight. I slowly turn around to stare at Dean, who’s gone pale and looks as though he’s feeling nauseous.

 

“Sorry,” I say weakly.

 

Dean shuts his eyes as Sam gives a snort of laughter. I turn back to face him and he’s grinning widely, hazel eyes sparkling.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“Not what it looks like,” Dean snaps from behind me. “Cas was just... He had a nightmare, OK? That’s it.”

 

“I was very upset,” I confirm, nodding. “If the implication here is that Dean and I had sexual intercourse, I’m afraid that’s not the case, Sam.”

 

Sam’s eyebrows shoot upwards and I hear Dean make an odd spluttering, protesting noise. I whip around, concerned that he might be choking somehow. He’s staring at me with a furiously red face, eyes wide and mouth screwed up. It’s hard to tell what emotion he’s trying to express, but he doesn’t seem able to vocalise it, so I shrug and walk past a quietly laughing Sam.

 

“I would appreciate assistance in making food, please,” I call back over my shoulder.

 

Dean sits in silence at the kitchen table with a coffee while Sam shows me how to use the kettle, the toaster and how much milk to add to cereal. He promises that we’ll do a cooked breakfast tomorrow, but I’m already quite fascinated by the spread of food in front of me. I carry my bowl and plate over the table and sit opposite Dean, thanking Sam as he deposits a coffee in front of me. Dean’s eyes dart towards me and he shifts awkwardly in his seat. I smile serenely and hold his gaze as I take a sip of my coffee, only to splutter and scowl at the bad taste. He breaks out into a grin.

 

“Sugar?” he asks. I frown in confusion and he gets up from the table, grabbing a ceramic jar from the counter. He opens it and shows me the white crystals inside.

 

“I know what sugar is, Dean,” I say a little impatiently. “Why would I put it into this drink?”

 

He sits back down, frowning at me. “Cas, didn’t you eat anything on the way here?”

 

I think back. I certainly didn’t eat anything for the first day, when I was wandering up the side of a deserted highway, but once I got a ride... “The driver of the truck I got a ride on bought me a bottle of water and a packet of potato chips. They said ‘salty’ on the packaging so I guess that is what salt tastes like. I’m not sure I liked it much, it was very overpowering. It stung my lips. I enjoyed the water very much though.”

 

Dean looks curious. “And you seriously couldn’t taste anything when you had your mojo?”

 

“Of course I could. I could taste each individual molecule which made up the flavours in food. It was very interesting. That’s not tasting in the way that humans experience it, though.”

 

Dean nods slowly and then holds out the sugar again. “Try a little bit, just a pinch.”

 

He’s watching me closely as I reach into the jar and bring out a pinch of the hard granules. Cautiously, eyes closed, I open my mouth and slowly draw my tongue between my finger and thumb. A surprised noise escapes me and my eyes flutter open. “Oh, I like that much more.”

 

Dean is smiling faintly, eyes never leaving my face. He murmurs softly: “You have a sweet tooth.”

 

I frown in confusion, pressing my tongue against the roof of my mouth to try to capture more of the pleasant flavour, then running it cursorily around my teeth. “None of my teeth taste like sugar.”

 

Dean chuckles warmly. “Nah, it’s an expression, means you like sweet flavours.”

 

I smile in understanding and we stare at each other for a moment before Sam’s amused voice breaks the silence. “Well, I’m glad we established that. You going to add some sugar to your coffee, Cas?”

 

I look at Sam, nodding slowly. “How much?”

 

But Dean is already spooning sugar into my drink and stirring it around, cheeks slightly pink as he shoots an annoyed glance at his brother. I grin my thanks and take another sip, eyes widening in approval. “That’s much better. It doesn’t taste so...”

 

I struggle for the word and Dean pipes up helpfully. “Bitter?”

 

I shrug. “Probably.”

 

I try the toast with peanut butter, and even though I can taste that saltiness again it’s much softer and warmer this time. I pronounce it pleasant and then try the cornflakes with milk. I dislike the damp texture and mild flavour immediately and Dean shrugs, spooning sugar onto them before pulling them towards him and eating them himself. Sam kindly makes me more toast, adding fruit jelly on top of the peanut butter this time, and the flavour is what I imagine humans are referring to when they say ‘delicious’. Both brothers are chuckling at my delighted expression when Sam suddenly stiffens in his chair, eyes glowing blue-white.

 

“Dean,” he says, voice flat and low. He turns to me, eyes that familar grey-brown again but not at all Sam. “Castiel.”

 

“Ezekiel,” says Dean in surprise, and I narrow my eyes in confusion, setting down my toast. I don’t recognise this as the angel I know. But then I remember that I’m human now, I can’t see true forms or souls, and I haven’t spent time with Ezekiel in years anyway. Dean is asking what the angel wants and I focus on his response.

 

“I want to let you know that Sam is making progress,” Sam’s voice and face tell us politely, coolly. “I am healing him slowly but thoroughly. He’s on track to becoming healthy again.”

 

“Good,” says Dean, relief clear in his voice. “That’s great, thank you.”

 

Ezekiel inclines his head and then turns his borrowed gaze onto me, frowning slightly. “Castiel. I understand you are staying here indefinitely?”

 

I’m slightly stung by his lack of greeting but I nod anyway. “Yes. It’s good to see you, brother. Thank you for saving Sam.”

 

He nods dismissively. “I am concerned by your presence here, brother. You have many enemies. Surely you endanger us all.”

 

I frown deeply, but Dean cuts across me before I can reply, his tone sharp. “What are you getting at? You want him to go?”

 

My stomach twists as Ezekiel tilts his head at Dean. “Yes, I think that would be wise.”

 

“Well, he’s not going anywhere,” Dean says fiercely, and I’m glad he doesn’t look at me, because I’ve never done a worse job of keeping my love for him off of my face. “This place is warded to the hilt. Besides, most angels probably think Cas is dead.”

 

“That won’t last for long.”

 

“Well, like I said, you’re safe here. Cas stays, that’s non-negotiable.”

 

Ezekiel scowls and it looks remarkably like Sam’s trademark ‘bitch face’, as Dean calls it. My heart is beating hard as he turns the face onto me. “You are content to endanger us by staying?”

 

The question tears at me and I look away, hating that he’s right. I’ve gone from being Sam and Dean’s greatest protector to presenting a possibly fatal weakness for them. I raise my gaze to Dean and speak reluctantly. “Maybe I should go.”

 

His eyes blaze green fire at me and his tone is final when he speaks. “Hell, no. You’re safer here, we’re safer here, and Ezekiel is safer here. You are staying.”

 

I smile gratefully at him and I manage to stop the tears from falling this time, although they’re still there, unwanted and embarrassing. Ezekiel sighs from beside me.

 

“Very well. But if there is a hint of danger here, if I think for a moment that his presence has attracted trouble to us, I will leave. And Sam will die.”

 

Dean swallows and for a moment, he looks unsure. But then he glances back at me and his face sets. “OK, but you won’t have to. We won’t be attacked here. No one can find the bunker.”

 

Ezekiel looks unhappy and annoyed, but nods sharply once. Abruptly, his face melts into a handsome laugh, and Sam is back in those warm multi-coloured eyes. I slump with relief, feeling light-headed. Sam’s chuckle dies as he looks between us, at our tense faces and clenched fists. His face falls into confusion; from his perspective, we’ve gone from happy smiles to shuttered frowns in the blink of an eye. “Whoa, what’s wrong, guys?”

 

Dean forces a grin. “Nothing, Sammy. Uh, PB&J really is magical, huh Cas?”

 

I look down at my forgotten toast and slowly raise it to my mouth, taking a bite. I nod solemnly and Sam snorts, getting up from the table to go rinse out his mug. Dean and I stare at each other in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty cliched with the shaving thing but whatever, I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it :)

The rest of the day ends up being very enjoyable and it’s easy to forget that Ezekiel is there with the three of us. After breakfast I go to brush my teeth and Dean walks in on me as I’m leaning close to the mirror, examining my stubble with a frown. It’s fast developing into a beard, and I don’t want a beard.

I grew a beard in Purgatory because my grace worked differently there, as though it was a battery rather than a constant power source. Every use of it sapped my strength for a short while and I wanted to conserve it. So I consciously withdrew it from all the things it usually maintained and fixed automatically, such as keeping my skin clean and my clothes repaired, and stopping my hair from growing. Purgatory didn’t seem to follow the same rules of life as the mortal world. Even without my grace, my sweat didn’t go sour and my teeth didn’t build up plaque. My companions were similarly unaffected. As well as this, Dean found that he felt neither thirst nor hunger, and Benny had no need of blood to sustain him. It was an odd place and I found the beard to be an odd experience. I was quite glad to get rid of it once my grace was back to normal.

Now, peering at the scrobiculate beginnings of another beard on my jawline, I’m annoyed at the prospect. Dean steps up beside me and smiles. “Do you know how to shave?”

I turn to him and shake my head. I know that Dean is lucky and his facial hair grows slowly; he told me as much in Purgatory, when I watched him carefully scraping a small knife across his wet face every few days. He hardly ever cut himself, but he told me that it was due to a sharp blade and lots of practice. He said he’d never once had a beard or moustache in his life, and he never wanted to.

Looking at him, I can see that he has a little bit of stubble, but not as much as me. It actually looks very pleasing on him. I compare my own face in the mirror. The rough layer of stubble is thicker and darker than his, but it’s not aesthetically displeasing either. In fact, for the first time ever, I can appreciate that I’m not a bad looking man. Now that it’s my own human body rather than just a vessel, that seems to matter more. My dark hair is artfully mussed and soft-looking, the almost black colour providing a sharp contrast to eyes as startling blue as Dean’s are green. Really, the stubble looks damn good on me. In a few days it will be actual hair, though. I scrape at it with my fingers and Dean laughs softly.

“Yeah, you look better without the beard for sure. I’ll help you out.”

I nod gratefully. Dean directs me to wash my face clean, watching me splash water onto my skin with an amused expression. I add soap and scrub thoroughly before rinsing and then toweling my face dry.

“Gotta have a clean face for shaving,” he informs me. I nod seriously.

He grabs a damp washcloth hanging by the sink and runs the hot tap, soaking the cloth with hot water and then laying it aside. He half-fills the basin with cold water, then takes a small bottle and shakes some sort of golden substance onto my fingers.

“Shaving oil,” he tells me, motioning for me to pat it lightly onto my jaw. “Softens the skin.”

I hesitantly brush my fingers across my cheeks and chin and he bites his lip, clearly struggling with himself. Sighing, he avoids my eyes as he puts shaving oil onto his own fingers and rubs it into my skin using quick, firm movements. I close my eyes and hum in surprised enjoyment. His fingers are a little rough but the oil quickly makes them soft. It smells faintly pleasant and it feels irrationally good to have him touch me. He takes his hands away too quickly and my eyes flutter open, watching him busy himself at the sink with his stubbled cheeks flushed.

He takes the hot washcloth from the counter and presses it to my face. When he speaks his voice is light and warm. “Need to heat the skin, opens the pores. You keeping up?”

I nod into the pleasant warmth of the damp cloth, happy to have an excuse to let my eyes wander over the details of his face. I don’t think he noticed my shocked expression or my intense staring when he picked me up from that bus shelter, and I don’t think he’s realised that I can see him properly for the first time. More than likely, he never actually knew that I was only ever seeing him through the glow of his soul when I was an angel. It’s not like I couldn’t see his physical form, it was just overshadowed by something more beautiful and more familiar to me.

But now, as a human, all I can see is another human. When I viewed him for the first time this way, I was slightly bewildered to be looking at the physical shell of this man I loved, without the nuances and fluctuations of his soul enriching his appearance. It was a good hour before I stopped staring at his profile in the car. I eventually decided that it was actually nice to be able to see his face and body clearly, since it was really a very pleasing sight. Now, looking at the expressions flickering across his eyes, I almost feel like I can still see his soul after all.

He glances at me and I blink, realising that my gaze was probably getting a little heavy. My voice is muffled when I speak. “It’s quite an involved process.”

Dean continues to pat at my face with the cloth. He shrugs, eyes sparkling. “Beauty comes at a price, my friend. You have to put the work in to look this good.”

I nod solemnly again and Dean snorts as he lays the cloth down. He proceeds to pick up a small dish and squirts white foam into it from a metal container. Grabbing a neat little brush, he rubs the foam into a lather in the bowl. Offering me the brush, he explains that I need to cover all of the stubble with the foam and rub it in thoroughly using circular motions. I do so, peering into the mirror. When I’ve covered my whole lower face and neck in the smooth white substance, he grins at me in the mirror.

“Once you look like Santa, it’s time to actually shave. It’s important to be careful and shave with the grain as much as possible, so you don’t cut yourself, yeah?”

“Yes, I understand.”

Dean talks me through it as I firmly drag the razor across my skin, taking away strips of lather and revealing smooth, clean flesh beneath it. He instructs me to rinse the implement in the sink regularly. All is going well until I’m attending to the jut of bone beneath my ear. I go for the wrong angle and the blade catches; I wince sharply and swear under my breath as a bead of blood wells up. I twist my mouth apologetically.

“Sorry, Dean.”

“No, don’t apologise...” He trails off and, without seeming to realise what he’s doing, he steps close and gently swipes the blood away with his thumb. I turn my head and meet his eyes and there’s the usual thick silence for a few seconds. I’m so used to it now; it’s become an almost comfortable part of my relationship with Dean. He’s nearly always the first to look away, fumbling and clearing his throat.

But this time, it seems to hit me differently. Instead of remaining calm, I quickly feel flustered and confused by the physical proximity and the sharp scent of the shaving foam and after about two seconds, the intensity of the eye contact is starting to feel unbearable. But I can’t seem to remember how to tear my gaze away. The green of Dean’s eyes is making me dizzy and I’m holding my breath. My skin is prickling unpleasantly and I feel overheated. It’s bizarre. With a huge effort and an immediate sense of relief, I wrench my eyes down to the counter top and stare blankly, inhaling with a rush. Is this how Dean feels when we have those little moments? No wonder they make him so uncomfortable. Suddenly, his personal space rule makes more sense to me.

Dean steps back and clears his throat, a familiar sound, and it makes me smile a little. I take a deep breath and resume shaving. There’s silence for a little while until I get to my upper lip and he explains that it’s best to pull the skin tight and flat because it’s easier to cut oneself on the moustache area. I murmur agreement, doing as he says, and then move across to the other side of my face. He then directs me to shave my neck using long, broad strokes, being very careful on the sharp edge of my jawbone.

I wash the razor off once more and he empties the sink and then runs the tap warm, telling me to rinse my face thoroughly before patting it dry with the towel. He tells me to check for any patches I’ve missed, running his fingers softly across his own face to demonstrate. I do so but I wish I was touching his skin instead. It takes much more effort than it used to, stopping myself from touching Dean. I force myself to focus as he points out a spot near my pulse point which still has some practically invisible stubble and I tilt my head as he spreads some more shaving cream onto the spot and meticulously shaves it bare. I hope that he can’t feel how my pulse is jumping erratically from the attention.

“You enjoy shaving,” I observe as he uses the damp washcloth to wipe the last of the lather off my neck. He grins at me as he grabs a different bottle from the counter top and unscrews the cap. A familiar smell wafts towards me; my sense of smell as an angel was clearly more similar to a human’s, unlike my sense of taste. The scent is altered, stronger and smoother and less detailed, but unmistakable.

“That smells like you,” I tell him, smiling at the bottle. His grins turns oddly shy and he chuckles a little, cocking his head.

“You recognise my aftershave?”

“Is that what it is?” I reach out and take the bottle, inhaling. “You don’t always smell like this, but you do quite regularly.”

Dean shrugs, his ears pink, but he looks pleased. “Well, I’d smell like that on the days I’ve shaved, I guess. I don’t shave every morning. But you’re right, yeah, I like to shave. It’s kind of a ritual, I like going through all the steps.”

He pours a little of the aftershave onto my fingers and tells me to apply it like the oil. I rub it into my skin using little circular motions, closing my eyes to enjoy the scent and the feel. I jump and open them again as Dean dabs at my cut with the corner of the washcloth, rubbing the now-dried blood off. “Only one cut! Nice job.”

He grins at me and holds up his hand for a hi-five, which I grant him with raised brows and a smirk. I suddenly remember that I have a mirror to check my reflection, and I do so, mildly pleased to see my familiar clean-shaven face there. As an angel I never saw my own grace in the mirror because mirrors generally only reflect the physical world. The face of Jimmy Novak was the only face I ever really saw as just a face, although I didn’t look into mirrors very often. Next to me, Dean is humming lightly as he cleans the razor, brush and bowl. I watch him fondly, absently rubbing the newly soft skin on my cheek. He shakes the equipment and then lays it out to dry on the counter, looking up and catching my eye. His gaze travels over the Metallica t shirt I’m wearing and he tilts his head.

“Not that I mind you borrowing my shirt,” he says with a smile. “But we should probably go buy you some new clothes.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wistful Sam/Jess fan right here, if you couldn't work that out from this chapter!   
> Also Aerosmith are great.  
> Slight warning for some very brief, very mild kinda anti-gay language from Dean. It's not even anti-gay, just closeted behaviour really.

The shopping mall is an interesting place. It’s not a very big mall, but it seems to have a wide range of human interests covered in a small area. Sam is chattering about seeing if they’ve got some decent seasonal fruits in store and Dean is teasing him about being a ‘health freak’. I watch them as we walk across the parking lot, enjoying the relaxing familiarity of their argument. I don’t even realise that I’m smiling until Dean catches my eye and grins at me, looking as happy as he’s ever looked. I’m smiling far more since I became human, and he’s doing the same.

Our first stop is a clothes store, where Sam and Dean spend minutes at a time arguing over different colours and types of plaid shirts. They pick out plain t-shirts in white, black, blue and grey as they debate this and I watch them with interest, hugging the growing collection of shirts to my chest. Finally they agree to pick one plaid top each - with Sam choosing a red and black and Dean settling on a blue and purple - and they instruct me to pick one for myself. I cast my eyes over the rails until one in various shades of green catches my eye. Dean frowns at it as though he doesn’t approve.

“Green is my favourite colour. It’s like your eyes,” I explain to him and he immediately blushes, while Sam smirks behind him.

“Dude, that’s fuckin’ gay,” Dean remarks, but waves his hand airily when I go to put the shirt back. “Nah, it’s actually not that bad though, keep it.”

Sam grabs two pairs of dark blue jeans that look similar to the ones the two brothers always wear. Taking them over to the fitting rooms, he drapes one pair over a chair outside the curtain and gestures for me to dump the various shirts on top. Pulling out a blue t shirt and the blue and purple button-up that Dean picked, he hands them to me with the second pair of jeans.

“You don’t need to try all of it on, just try these on to make sure we got it right,” he instructs. I nod happily. I’m wearing the same shirt and jeans from last night. Taking my new outfit into the fitting room and pulling the curtain shut behind me, I strip down to my boxers and idly examine the flat planes of my vessel; no, my body. It’s quite attractive, to my untrained eyes. I wonder what Dean’s nude body looks like through human eyes as I lift one foot and start dragging the jeans on. The thought is unexpectedly distracting and I yelp as my balance fails, toppling me into the wall with a loud crashing noise.

“Cas?” Dean’s worried voice is immediately at the curtain and I feel an absurd rush of horror at the thought of him opening it and seeing me slumped on the floor, legs tangled up in denim. I hurriedly assure him that I’m fine and I pull the jeans on properly before donning the two shirts, leaving the plaid one open. I cock my head at my reflection. I look like a Winchester. Grinning at the thought, I pull open the curtain and step out, coming almost nose to nose with Dean.

He steps back quickly and opens his mouth to speak but then looks me up and down, his lips remaining parted and silent. I spread my hands and look down at myself before smiling back up at him for approval, remembering when I made the same gesture after returning from Purgatory. He’s wearing the exact same odd facial expression, surprised and slightly dazed with flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

“Better?” I say softly, although he probably doesn’t even recognise that I’m quoting myself. He shuts his mouth and runs his green eyes over me one more time, lingering on the snug t shirt. Then he meets my gaze and gives an almost shy smile.

“Yeah,” he says huskily. “Better. You, uh, look really good.”

Sam appears at that moment, holding a bunch of underwear and socks. He briefly scans my outfit and nods with a grin.

“Looks like it all fits! You wanna wear it straightaway? They’ll probably let you.”

The shop assistant who serves us seems happy to cut the tags off on the spot and we leave after Sam pays on what I know to be a false card. It’s quite immoral but I’m not in a position to preach. I thank him quietly and he shrugs with a smile. I’m trying to get used to the slightly stiff texture of the new jeans. I notice the pockets and slide my hands in experimentally before fiddling with the buttons on the sleeves of my shirt. Undoing them as we make our way through the sparse crowd in the mall, I roll them up my arms as I’ve seen Dean do; I always liked the way it looked on him. I glance up and Dean is watching me, but he quickly looks away.

As we weave through the steady traffic of people doing their shopping, Dean announces that he has to go buy some new motor oil for the Impala. Sam makes a scoffing noise.

“Boring,” he says lightly. “Cas and I will do the food shopping while you geek out over car stuff, yeah?”

Dean dithers as we reach an intersection in the mall and Sam goes to tug me away from him. He stares at me, biting his lip. I look between the brothers and Sam raises his eyebrows at Dean, laughter in his eyes. They look more bluish grey than hazel today. I’ve never noticed before that they change.

“Dean, what’s the problem?” Sam asks, his voice light and amused. Dean shrugs and steps back, dropping his gaze.

“No problem. Meet you guys at the grocery store.”

With that, he turns and strides off, sidestepping two rather large women pushing a stroller. Sam snorts, shaking his shaggy head, and guides me by the elbow towards a large food store.

“Dean is so screwed,” he mutters. I stiffen as we walk into the store and Sam pulls a trolley out of a storage bay.

“How so? Is Dean in danger?”

Sam grins at me, eyes crinkling merrily. “Nah, Cas. He’s fine. I just think that he’s going to have to come to terms with some truths about himself if he wants this to work.”

I’m confused and I open my mouth to ask what ‘this’ is, but Sam carries on talking before I can do so. He’s explaining the different vegetables and fruits to me and it’s interesting and useful information, so I give him my full attention. We pick up carrots, zucchini, watermelon and bananas. We then move on to the canned food aisle where Sam teaches me about all the ‘easy’ foods, disapproval in his voice, although he still selects some beans and some pasta sauce. We’ve barely started on the dairy section when Dean shows up, swinging a shopping bag from his hand and scowling at the fresh food in the trolley.

“Goddamn rabbit food,” he mutters. I smile at his expression and Sam rolls his eyes, continuing with his explanation of differing cheese varieties. Dean goes away and comes back with four steaks and a large pack of beef mince, nodding decisively. He then puts chocolate milk into the trolley and a tub of ‘neopolitan’ ice cream, then drops in a packet of candy labelled with ‘Reese’s Pieces’ as we’re nearing the checkout. Sam frowns as Dean dithers before grabbing a pack of ‘Twizzlers’ too.

“Dean, that’s too much sweet stuff...”

I perk up at the word ‘sweet’; that was the flavour I liked, from sugar. I look at Dean’s additions to the trolley with renewed interest and Sam shuts his mouth, smirking at me. He turns to Dean, who’s avoiding my eyes.

“Oh,” is all Sam says before pushing the trolley into place at the checkout. Dean continues to determinedly not look at me as he packs the food into bags and passes one to me before hoisting the other into his own arms. It’s heavy but I’m stronger than I initially thought upon falling from Heaven. At first, I felt impossibly weak and helpless, used to my angelic abilities giving me strength far greater than any human. Sam pays and we head towards the parking lot, but Dean lingers as we’re about to leave the building.

“You guys go ahead,” he mumbles, passing the grocery bag to me and the keys to Sam. I heft it into my arms with the other one, still not finding them too difficult to carry although my shoulders ache in a foreign way. Sam looks puzzled but shrugs, leading me to the car. We load the bags into the trunk and then climb into the car; Sam politely insists that I ride shotgun. Dean has been gone for a few minutes when Sam stretches forward to turn on the radio. Two people seem to be having an animated conversation but barely thirty seconds go by before they announce that they’re about to play a song. Sam chuckles in the backseat as the opening music starts up, filling the car with the smooth, grand sound of string instruments.

“Good old Aerosmith” he grins at me as I twist around to face him. I cock my head quizzically and he explains further. “This is Dean’s kinda music, you’ve probably heard him play this sorta stuff before.”

I listen to the song, trying to hear how it’s similar to the other music I’ve heard Dean play. It sounds too slow right now, but then a strong, throaty voice cuts in and I listen to the words with interest:

_I could stay awake_   
_Just to hear you breathin’_   
_Watch you smile while you are sleepin’_   
_While you’re far away, dreamin’_

I tilt my head and remark that the singer appears to dislike pronouncing the letter ‘g’ on the ends of words. Sam snorts in reply and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. The lyrics so far are a little too relatable for me; I’ve watched Dean sleep many, many times.

“I kissed Jess for the first time listening to this song,” Sam suddenly says, voice quiet and face wistful. He glances at me and then looks away. I’ve heard of Jess, and I’m aware that she was Sam’s romantic partner whose death spurred him to reunite with Dean in the ‘family business’. I wonder if he’s still in love with her. I used to spend long, lonely hours thinking about how it would feel to love Dean after his death, how painful and horrible and empty it would be. Despite the downfalls of being human, part of me is almost glad that I’m mortal now. Living without Dean may not end up being a problem after all. I clear my throat, knowing that I should respond to Sam’s words.

“Is it customary to listen to music whilst initiating close physical contact with a potential partner?”

Sam relaxes and grins at me. “Not necessary, but yeah, I guess it’s a nice touch. That’s why we have so many love songs, I suppose. Anything to help people get laid, huh?”

I cock my head again, thinking. “So in order to maximise the chances of sexual contact with a person, it’s best to play a love song in the background?”

Sam nods. “Yep. Helps if it’s a song you already know is special to them. I took Jess out for a drink at the campus bar to make my move. They had a jukebox there and I knew that this was her favourite song at the time. So I went and put it on. She smiled so big and we were kissing by the end of the song...”

Sam has closed his eyes in memory and the smile on his lips is faint and sad. I feel my chest tighten in pain, surprising me. Strengthened empathy must be a human thing. I watch with furrowed brows as he starts to mouth along to the words of the song:

_I still miss you, baby_   
_And I don’t wanna miss a thing..._

The trunk opens and we both jump. Dean is putting something in there; a moment later, he slams it shut and strides around to the driver’s door, sliding in with a standard greeting. He looks at the radio and grins, pleased.

“Hell yeah, bit of Aerosmith!” he exclaims. I smile at Sam, who rolls his eyes, and I turn back to the front. The song pauses as Dean starts the engine but resumes quickly, and Dean starts to sing along under his breath as he pulls out of the parking space.

_I just wanna stay with you_   
_In this moment forever_   
_Forever and ever..._

He bites his lip and drums his hands on the steering wheel as the chorus bursts in. I watch him in fascination; he barely seems aware that he’s doing it.

_I don’t wanna close my eyes_   
_I don’t wanna fall asleep_   
_‘Cause I miss you, baby_   
_And I don’t wanna miss a thing_

Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head for emphasis on the last line and as he opens them, he seems to become aware of my perusal. Glancing across at me, he blushes and shuts his mouth. But then, from the backseat, comes Sam’s off key warbling:

_‘Cause even when I dream of you_   
_The sweetest dream will never do_   
_I still miss you, baby_   
_And I don’t wanna miss a thing-_

Dean’s grinning broadly by the last line and with a chuckle he joins in, eyes twinkling at his brother in the rear view mirror before he glances back at me. He winks and then holds my gaze for a moment before looking back at the road.

_I don’t wanna miss one smile_   
_I don’t wanna miss one kiss_   
_I just wanna be wit’ you_   
_Right here with you_   
_Just like this_

Sam and Dean are both singing loudly and quite badly now, matching the radio for volume, their smiles betrayed in their voices. I find myself wishing I knew the words so that I might sing along too, but it’s nice enough to just be feeling this carefree and cheerful. I grin at them both, glad that Sam’s memories aren’t ruining this moment for him. It’s moments like this that make humans so amazing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If last chapter delved into one of Sam's past loves, this delves into one of Dean's. I don't really ship Dean/Lisa but they were nice together, and she was a decent character considering how weak and out of nowhere that pairing was. No Lisa hate here please :)

Dinner that night is spaghetti Bolognese. I carefully chop carrots and zucchinis into small cubes under Sam’s instruction as Dean dices the onion at the table, swearing in a thick voice. At first I wonder if Dean has emotional memories which are triggered by the vegetable, but then the fumes reach me and I feel my eyes sting too. Once we’ve cooked the vegetables, we set them aside and Dean takes over, cooking off the mince before adding the vegetables back in and pouring the pasta sauce over the whole thing. I loiter in the kitchen, watching him, whilst Sam retires to the library with a beer. Dean keeps up an easy chatter about the ingredients he’s adding and I’m surprised that he knows so much about cooking, since he eats very little but burgers and fries and pizza when he’s out hunting. I remark as much and he shrugs, smiling as he splashes red wine into the sauce.

“I wasn’t much of a cook most of my life. It was Lisa who got me into it. She’s an amazing cook and I used to hang around her when she made food, just watching...” he trails off, lost in memories.

I watch his eyes drift away and the tight, angry feeling in my gut catches me by surprise. Am I jealous? I must be, yes. After all, if I’d needed confirmation that Dean loved Lisa, I had it. He just described himself doing exactly what I was doing now: hanging around the one I loved while they cooked, content to just observe them. I sigh, annoyed at myself. Jealousy is a very human emotion, and not one I felt often as an angel. In fact, the first time I ever experienced it was watching Anna kiss Dean, soon after I met him. That was the first time I really became aware that I desired him, on any level. The jealousy feels stronger now. It feels, as Dean might put it, fucking terrible.

“... fresh is best, but dried is fine,” Dean is saying, and I shake myself mentally, trying to pay attention. But all I can see is Dean and Lisa in a kitchen like this one, laughing over the stove top, embracing, happy together...

“Cas, you alright?” I blink and see worried green eyes staring at me.

“Do you miss her?”

There’s a ringing silence and I feel myself flush as I realise I said the words out loud. Damn human impulse control, it’s practically non-existent. I hold Dean’s gaze though, despite my churning stomach. Dean looks away and stares at the Bolognese sauce, stirring slowly. Then he answers in a low voice.

“Yes.”

I nod, sighing again, but he continues in a rush.

“I miss having that life, is what I mean. I miss the patterns and the safety of having a normal routine. I miss being in a long term relationship where I was someone else’s rock, where things were constant and stupid shit like laundry and shopping lists actually mattered. I miss being a parent. I miss Ben. I really miss Ben.”

His voice is a little shaky and he’s still staring into the food in front of him as though it’s speaking back to him. I step forward and place a tentative hand on his shoulder. He jumps and glances at me, eyes haunted. I search for the right words.

“I’m sorry you had to give them up, Dean. I did go back and check on them a couple of times, but Sam said that a clean break would be best for you, so I kept it to myself. They’re doing really well, though. Ben especially. He’s so like you.”

I smile fondly and he swallows, eyes a little bright. He whispers: “I didn’t know you did that. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. They were so important to you. I know you didn’t want to leave them... I know that nothing can make up for them.”

Dean frowns at me and turns to face me properly. My hand slips off of his shoulder and he catches it, holding it awkwardly in mid air. “What do you mean?”

I glance at our joined hands in confusion and he quickly drops my fingers, but continues to watch me questioningly. I try to elaborate.

“Lisa and Ben. You were happy with them. Things were right for you when you were with them. I know, Dean, I was watching over you.”

Dean stares at me, a strange sadness in his face. “How long were you planning to keep an eye on me, Cas?”

I tilt my head and return his frown. “Well, your whole life. I wasn’t just going to... Dean, you were supposed to forget about me, that’s fine, but it’s different for me. I can’t forget about you.”

I feel deeply uncomfortable once the words have left my mouth. They reveal too much. Dean is too close and his green eyes are too intense on mine. He speaks in a low voice.

“Cas, I didn’t forget about you for one single day. You keep saying I was so happy with Lisa and Ben, and I was, but it wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t right. I was never going to be able to keep up that pretense. Sam wasn’t there. You weren’t there. It wouldn’t have been enough, in the end.” He pauses and shakes his head, eyes travelling around the small kitchen before returning to my rapt gaze. “Honestly? This is kind of it for me. Living here, with Sam and you and Kevin. You guys are my family and I’m actually content here, despite all the crap that’s always going on around us. I’d like to keep this going. This is what’s right for me.”

Dean smiles at me then, a genuine smile, and his shoulders relax. I smile back faintly, feeling a little overwhelmed. I was so sure that Dean’s greatest regret would always be losing Lisa and Ben, that Lisa was to him what Jess is to Sam. It’s a relief to hear that he feels at peace with the way his life has turned out, and that he really does want me here in the bunker. I continue to watch his profile, standing closer than he’d usually allow, as he returns to stirring the Bolognese. We settle into a comfortable silence for a while and then Dean helps me through boiling the spaghetti. I go and fetch Sam once it’s all ready.

Once we’re all seated at the table, Dean lifts his beer up and Sam does the same. I recognise the gesture and repeat it, lifting my own untouched beer as well. Dean grins at me.

“To Cas,” he proclaims, and I blink in surprise. “We’re glad you’re here, man.”

“Hear, hear,” agrees Sam firmly and I beam at them both, swelling with affection for these two men who are so eager to be my family. We clink bottles and I take a sip, grimacing a little at the taste.

“Is that ‘bitter’ again?” I ask Dean with interest, taking another sip and finding that the flavour smooths out very quickly on my tongue. He nods at me and then encourages me to try my food, eyes sparkling. I haven’t eaten since breakfast so my stomach feels empty, and the smell drifting up from my bowl is quite appealing. Scooping some up with my fork, I frown at the dangling pieces of pasta. Why must they be so long? Sam snorts at my face but Dean shushes him and shows me how to twirl the pasta around my fork using my spoon.

“Lady and the Tramp,” Sam mutters, laughing eyes on his brother. Dean shoots him an unimpressed look, but his ears are a little pink. I’m still wondering what the words could mean as I finish twirling the pasta and sauce neatly on my fork and place the food into my mouth. I stop wondering straight away; I’m too distracted.

“Oh my God,” I mumble around my mouthful, eyes wide as the flavours wash over me. Dean and Sam both burst out laughing as I chew.

“Well, shit! Must be damn good food if it makes angels blaspheme,” chuckles Dean, obviously pleased with my reaction. I swallow the pasta and smile at him.

“It’s amazing, Dean! It’s even better than P and B and J. Is all pasta this good or are you just very skilled?”

I meant the question in earnest but Sam snorts into his bowl as though I’ve said something funny. Dean beams at me, flushing.

“I guess I’m just awesome at cooking.”

I nod seriously and concentrate on twirling another mouthful of pasta onto my fork. Sam and Dean begin a conversation about some Italian dish that Bobby used to make but I keep my eyes closed and my mind on the taste of the Bolognese. I can detect both salt and sweet, although the sweet is very faint. There are other flavours I don’t have words for, though. There are sharper parts and softer parts and parts that change as I chew. There are parts that seem to float upwards into my nose and parts that have a slight warming effect. It’s fascinating and so complex, but harder to pick apart than when I was an angel and so much more pleasurable. Then there’s the texture of the food, which is also layered and varying and very enjoyable. I open my eyes as I near the end of the meal.

“Food is wonderful,” I proclaim. Sam was in the middle of explaining a film plot, from what I can tell, and Dean has his mouth full. They both pause and nod solemnly at me as though I’ve discovered the secret to being human, what it’s really about, the profound basis of life itself. Hell, maybe I have.

After we’ve all finished eating Sam insists that we watch the film he was talking about, ‘Hot Fuzz’. He says that Charlie recommended it to him and that it’s funny. Dean tells us to go ahead and he’ll join us soon.

Sam’s bedroom has the biggest television so we head in there. Sam - oddly, considering it’s his room - immediately settles on the desk chair, swinging it around and straddling it backwards. I settle on the opposite side of the bed and when Dean arrives, he shrugs before sitting next to me, legs stretched out like mine. I can faintly feel his body heat and it’s a comforting presence next to me. The film starts and I watch attentively. I know that some of the jokes are lost on me but the laughter of the two brothers is pleasant and Dean nudges me lightly now and again if I miss something amusing, the contact a mild shock of warmth every time.

It’s towards the end of the film that the urge to move closer to him becomes impossible to resist. As an angel such an impulse would have been effortlessly quashed but as a human, I’m weak in every single way. I take a deep breath and shift nervously to my left in a quick, clumsy movement, clasping my hands in my lap and keeping my eyes locked on the screen. My thigh and hip bump lightly against Dean’s and our upper arms press together. I feel his muscles twitch and tense at the contact; his breathing hitches and I know he turns his head to look at me, although I don’t return his gaze. My heart thumps in my ears.

It’s so strange. As a human I’m far more aware of Dean’s discomfort, almost on an instinctual level. I don’t need him to tell me when I’m acting ‘weird’, because his body language is more obvious to me now. But I care about it less. It’s that selfishness again, just like last night. I know that I’m pushing his boundaries but I want to so much, and what I want matters much more to me now that I’ve lost my grace. Dean shifts restlessly next to me, the bare skin of his arm hot through the soft material of my shirt. His leg is firm against mine and I can faintly smell him. He probably wants me to move.

I’m not going to.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh man I am not feeling great about this season finale. SPN is so bad at finales and destiel is in a bad place despite having such a great run this season and Ep21 was genuinely repulsive. I'll still watch but... ugh.

Dean doesn’t move for the rest of the film. Not away from me, not at all. He holds his tense pose for several minutes before finally relaxing a little and giving a few more weak chuckles at the funny parts of the film. His hands stay stiff on his thighs and he doesn’t look at me again, although I glance at his profile a few times. He’s so close and the light from the television plays across his features, catching dully in his eyes.

 

The film finishes and Dean claps once, angling away from me to face Sam, although he still doesn’t actually move from the spot. He speaks enthusiastically about the movie to his brother and I linger a moment more before climbing off of the bed, away from his warmth. Dean’s voice falters and he shoots me a glance, putting one hand down on the bed where I was sitting, but in an instant the moment is gone and so is his hand and he’s chatting to Sam again, tone bright.

 

“... usually not really my kinda stuff but I guess the Brits can be funny too.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve watched a lot of the stuff Charlie’s recommended and I gotta say I do like most of it. Just thought you’d probably enjoy this one. There’s another one called ‘Shaun of the Dead’ which is pretty good too, same two guys in it, same director. Hey Cas, d’you like the movie?”

 

Both men look expectantly at me where I stand awkwardly by the bed. I nod with a smile. “Yes, I enjoyed the character development and the subversion of accepted stereotypes.”

 

Sam nods thoughtfully as Dean rolls his eyes.

 

“Nerd,” he says cheerfully, standing up from the bed too with a slight stretch that reveals a strip of flat stomach. He shoves his hands in his pockets, eyes settling on me, something like anticipation lurking in the verdant depths. “Anyone for dessert?”

 

Sam shrugs but I smile widely, knowing that dessert means sweet which means sugar which means my favourite type of flavour, even after the delicious pasta. I’m not hungry but not too full to eat either. I nod enthusiastically and Dean grins as he leads Sam and me out of the room.

 

“Lucky for you two,” he says in a teasing tone as we near the kitchen, “I stopped by the bakery earlier.”

 

An extremely pleasant aroma reaches my nose and I close my eyes to inhale it. Sam sighs from behind me. “You bought pie.”

 

“I bought pie!” Dean crows gleefully, gesturing for us to sit at the table as he dons oven mitts and opens the oven door. He pulls out a large, round pie and begins to cut it up, serving it onto small plates. The filling is a vibrant red colour. Dean is still smiling as he takes a can out of the fridge and shakes it.

 

“Whipped cream? Seriously?” Sam chuckles. Dean winks at him.

 

“Don’t laugh, Sammy, I have had some mighty good times with whipped cream.”

 

His eyes flicker to me as he pulls the cap off of the can, but he looks away quickly. I know from his suggestive tone that he’s making some sort of sexual reference. I frown as I watch him squirt cream onto each plate, wondering how whipped cream might be involved in a sexual scenario. I’m so distracted by this thought that I barely notice as Dean sets my plate down in front of me and sits at the head of the table, watching me expectantly.

 

“Is whipped cream an aphrodisiac?” I ask as I pick up my fork. I’m not sure why I’m so interested in this. Dean’s eyebrows shoot upwards and he flushes, looking at Sam as if for help. Sam grins at me.

 

“No, Cas. Some people like to, uh, eat food off of their lovers. Whipped cream is a popular choice. It’s kinda the ultimate combo for Dean: pie and sex.”

 

I nod thoughtfully even as Dean splutters at his brother. “I have never eaten actual pie off of anyone!”

 

“Yeah, you’d like to though, you kinky bastard” retorts Sam. Dean relents with a grin, shrugging. I watch them with a smile but my mind is tugging at me with vague, half-formed images of that stomach I glimpsed earlier, with a neat dollop of whipped cream on it. Skin feeling a little heated, I scoop up some cream on my fork and bring it to my tongue, closing my eyes to test it, trying not to imagine what Dean’s skin might taste like beneath it instead of the cold metal of the fork. The cream tastes soft and sweet and altogether lovely. I make a sound of approval and open my eyes to find Dean’s green gaze boring into mine, his lips parted and his pupils enormous. I swallow and become aware of a throbbing sensation in my crotch. Again? Well, shit. That didn’t take much. Surely this is a cumbersome design flaw for human males? My father had a cruel sense of humour.

 

“Damn, this is good pie,” Sam interrupts the silent, tense stare-off obliviously around a mouthful of dessert. “Apple still beats cherry though.”

 

Dean looks away and I inhale steadily, relieved that the stirrings in my jeans haven’t developed further. He snorts at Sam, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

 

“As if. Cherry is the best. Sorry it’s not warmer, I had to put the oven on a timer so it’s been off for like an hour.”

 

“Nah, it’s fine...”

 

As they speak, I’m gathering up a forkful of pie, eager to try some. I know that this is Dean’s favourite food, so it must be pretty good. I bite the pie off the fork.

 

“Oh, fuck,” I moan thickly. Sam turns shocked eyes onto me and Dean leans an elbow on the table, covering his face with his hand and mumbling something unintelligible. I smile as I chew. It’s incredible. It’s almost better than the time Meg kissed me around the back of Rufus’s cabin, wrapping her legs around me and running her nails across my scalp, her soft lips and straining body wringing noises out of me very similar to the one I just made. Almost.

 

“Um, Cas?” Sam’s amused voice pulls me back to the present and I open my eyes, not having realised that I closed them. He’s smirking at me. “Orgasmic, huh? I guess you and Dean both have a pie kink.”

 

I look across at Dean and he’s bright red, staring at his me with his hand still covering the lower half of his face. He removes it at Sam’s words and scowls at his brother, fists clenched on the table. “Dude, what the hell?”

 

Sam shrugs, eyes dancing. “Just sayin’, I have never heard Cas swear before so he must really like pie. You should be happy! Another member for your fan club.”

 

I’ve been shovelling more pie into my mouth as I watch them argue back and forth, revelling in the warmth and the flaky sweetness of the pie crust and the sharp, tangy burst of the cherries with the sugary sauce soothing it all. I’m careful not to moan again; it seemed to upset or offend Dean somehow. I try some with the whipped cream and it’s delicious. Everything is delicious.

 

“Dean, you were so right about pie,” I tell him fervently as I scoop up the last of it from my plate. He looks at me and gives a quick grin. He’s barely halfway through his.

 

“I know,” he chuckles, shoulders relaxing and eyes softening. Sam finishes up his pie as I do and he stretches as he stands up.

 

“I’m off to bed, guys,” he announces, grabbing his plate. “See you in the morning. Hopefully Kevin gets back tomorrow.”

 

Dean nods as he chews his pie and I wish Sam a good night’s sleep, yawning around the words. Sam smiles tiredly and leaves the room, echoing my yawn. I watch Dean eat up the last of his pie, feeling content and pleasantly sleepy. It’s hard to believe that there might be any nightmares tonight. I want to be sure, though.

 

“Dean,” I say softly as Dean swallows his last mouthful and pushes his plate away, making satisfied noises and nodding appreciatively. He looks at me expectantly. “Dean, could I sleep in your bed again tonight?”

 

Dean’s smile disappears and he looks oddly frightened, then defensive. He shifts in his chair and looks away.

 

“No,” he bites out, picking up his plate and standing abruptly. I’m shocked at the way the little word strikes out at me, tearing at my breath and causing my happiness to dissolve into hurt. Dean glances at me, at my unguarded face and how it’s fallen, and frowns heavily.

 

“Shit, Cas, don’t look at me like... OK, look, compromise. You sleep in your bed but if you have a nightmare, you can come to my room. Only if. Alright?”

 

He looks so tense and I wonder miserably if having me sleep beside him was really that unpleasant for him. He slept in the same bed as Lisa for a year, so it must be about me personally rather than about having to share his bed space. I nod slowly and mutter my thanks, silently vowing that I won’t go to his room tonight or any other night, not if he hates it this much. A feeling of humiliation begins to set in and it burns high in my stomach, my skin turning cold. I stare at my plate as I stand up and I hear Dean sigh.

 

“It’s OK, Cas, don’t get mad at me. It... it’s just another personal space thing. You’re still learning. It’s OK.”

 

I do feel a little better and I raise my eyes to meet his small smile. We wash the dishes quickly and then head to the bathroom, where Dean takes me through the steps of brushing my teeth again. Then he claps me on the shoulder and he’s gone.

 

I use the toilet again - it’s my least favourite part of being human, at least while I’m awake - and head to my room, taking off everything but my boxers and neatly folding my clothes to leave them on top of the chest of drawers. I stare at them for a moment, remembering the way Dean folded my coat when he thought I was dead, keeping it with him, not forgetting me. The coat in question is in the laundry right now along with everything else I wore as an angel. I wonder if I’ll ever wear it again. It was sort of like a uniform, along with the suit and the tie. A uniform that no longer applies to me. I tilt my head back and take a deep breath. I have to learn how to stop getting emotional about the slightest thing.

 

Pulling on Dean’s Metallica shirt again, I climb into the cold bed and turn out the lamp. The dark presses in on me but that’s not what pokes at the fear coiled inside me. I close my eyes, wishing that I still had any friends in Heaven so that I might pray for a night free from terror. Surely it was just a reaction to becoming human. Surely it won’t happen that badly again. Surely...


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hail Jib8 <3

I jerk awake after barely two hours, whimpering and trembling. Scrambling onto my knees and pushing the covers off of me in a desperate panic, I feel the sweat running down my back, tracing my spine unpleasantly. I let out a groan and wrap my arms around myself, screwing my damp eyes shut and squeezing the tears out. I try to take a calming breath but it hitches and catches and I end up crying brokenly, unable to rid myself of the image of all the angels I slaughtered in Heaven, blackened wings outstretched in a silent, belated plea for mercy. Mixed up with that memory is one that shouldn’t be worse but it is, and they form a grotesque set of mirror images. Deans, hundreds of Deans, bloodied and staring, littering the floor, all dead by my hand. I’m sobbing out loud, the sound too shocking in the silent room, distressing me further.

 

Dean. I should go to Dean, he said I could, he said it would be alright. But then I remember his face when I asked, the reluctance with which he made his ‘compromise’. He doesn’t want me there. He doesn’t want me.

 

So I curl in on myself, kneeling on the rumpled bed with my chin tucked into my chest, fingers digging painfully into my sides as I press my folded arms against my stomach. I can’t seem to stop myself from crying, still too loud, still too broken, but maybe if I let myself go it will all drain out somehow and I’ll be exhausted enough to sleep in peace. Dean, I want Dean, I need Dean...

 

“Cas?”

 

It’s him. Dean’s voice is hushed and muffled though the door but it’s unmistakably him. I give a surprised hiccup and freeze, staring at the sheets in the almost-black of the room. I’m not sure what to do, but a moment later the decision is taken out of my hands as the door creaks open. Light spills in and Dean steps through the gap, shutting it quickly behind him. He repeats my name in a whisper and I heave a ragged breath, feeling ashamed and confused. Why is he even here? Why does he have to encounter me like this? I hate being the weaker one.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” I mumble dully, well aware that my voice sounds shattered. I don’t even hear him move but suddenly he’s there, climbing onto the bed beside me and wrapping strong arms about my shoulders.

 

“Sshhh, it’s OK, Cas,” he breathes into my hair, and something in his voice sounds almost relieved as he draws me gently back down to my pillows, settling me against his side and dragging the covers over us. I choke out a shocked thanks and he shushes me again, warm breath tickling my scalp. I snake my arms around his waist and rest my face against his firm, cotton-covered chest, bewildered that he’s here but feeling beyond grateful for it. I’m calmer already, my gasps turning to deep breaths, my tears slowing to a halt. Eyes closed, I breathe in his smell and feel the way his stomach muscles ripple and then relax beneath my arm.

 

“How did you know?” My voice is barely there, a husky murmur spoken mostly into his shirt, but he gives a huff of laughter in response, expelled breath ruffling the hair on my crown.

 

“I didn’t. I got up to pee and I heard you on my way back. Why didn’t you come see me? I told you to come see me if this happened again.”

 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to. I don’t want to be a burden to you, Dean.”

 

Dean’s arm tightens around me, hugging me to him, strong and sure and so warm.

 

“Bullshit, Cas. Bullshit. You’re not a burden. You’re family.”

 

His thumb strokes soothing circles into my shoulder and I screw up my eyes against his chest, overwhelmed by emotion. I can hear and feel his heartbeat, swift and strong like mine. It slows as I listen and I match my breathing to it. I feel safe in a way that I never have before, cocooned in Dean’s scent and guarded by the weight of his arm, heavy across my upper back. Drifting off to sleep is pleasant this time around, possibly one of the most serene experiences of my entire existence.

 

Waking up is not so peaceful.

 

I awake suddenly, jostled into consciousness. My face is mashed against warm, stubbled skin and my left arm is curled against a solid chest. My left leg is similarly positioned, hitched up over a blunt hipbone, inner thigh pressed against the other hipbone-

 

Wait. Fuck. No. That’s not the other hipbone.

 

My eyes snap open just as Dean jostles me again, clearly trying to slide out of my embrace without waking me. He bites back a small moan as the action drags my thigh against his erection and I shut my eyes again, head spinning. I hear his barely-audible cursing and feel his throat move against my mouth. I suddenly want to smile, which is bizarre. I take a moment to try to analyse my own feelings, because they are truly baffling. I feel oddly pleased by this whole situation. Aroused, yes, but it’s more than that. I feel... smug. I feel smug because Dean Winchester’s erection is digging into my leg.

 

I press my lips together, determined not to let my smirk break free. Emotions are ridiculous. I know how human biology works. Dean’s current situation has nothing to do with me. It’s a common occurrence for men to have symptoms of physical arousal in the mornings, as I have discovered firsthand. I should not be feeling this happy over a simple quirk of nature. It has no connection to my presence in his arms.

 

But my proximity to his problem is definitely having an exacerbating effect on it, I reason with myself as he inches further out of my grasp and gives another frustrated whimper. And that is something to feel legitimately smug about.

 

“Cas,” Dean gasps, the sound muffled, and I realise that he’s got his hand pressed to his mouth, his whole body tense and shaking, breathing fast and shallow. The blood rushes to my groin and I bite down on my lip, using all of my meagre self-control to stop myself from dropping my sleeping act, climbing on top of him and seeing where my desire leads me. Dean is helpless and aroused and uttering my name like he’s praying and it’s the most exciting thing I can imagine.

 

But I was raised in Heaven itself, after all, and I do have a strong moral compass even as a human. I shouldn’t take advantage of this situation just to fulfill my own fantasies. Dean is a person, the most important person in my life, not a toy. If by some far-fetched miracle Dean ever does desire me as anything other than a friend or a comrade, I want it to be because he enters into the situation willingly, not because biology makes him weak and impairs his judgement.

 

Reluctantly, I feign a sleepy mumble and withdraw my knee, pulling it down to rest with my other leg far away from Dean’s crotch. Dean gives another satisfyingly strained whimper as I move but after a few seconds of holding his breath, he lets out a rushed sigh of relief, warming my head as his breath fans through my hair. Shuffling carefully the last few inches away, he extracts himself from under my arm and gently gets out of my bed. I keep my face slack and my eyes closed, hands trailing out in front of me to where his body was moments before.

 

There’s a moment of silence as he presumably stands by the bed and I wonder why he isn’t leaving already. Surely he must be in some level of physical discomfort. I know I am. Is he staring at me? My room is totally bare so I can’t think of what else he might be staring at. I feel unbearably twitchy. Staying still was much easier as an angel. Finally, he pads across the room and I hear the door open and shut. I wait another five seconds, making sure he’s definitely gone, before I slowly crack open my eyes and roll onto my back, letting out an unsteady breath.

 

That was an intense experience. I’m still not sure what to make of it, so I replay the whole thing in my head, lingering on the sensations and the sounds and...

 

My hand has wandered down to the waistband of my boxers before I’m aware of moving it. I hesitate, but it does seem to be the practical thing to do. I’ve never done this properly before, though. I almost did, as an angel, more out of curiosity than anything else. It was when I was with Daphne. We were kissing and she ran her hand up my thigh then even further before pulling back, looking ashamed. Bless the poor woman. She refused to do more than gently kiss me, insisting that anything more would be immoral and wrong until I got my memories back and we could be sure that I was free to be hers. Besides, although we were ‘married in the eyes of God’, we hadn’t completed a legal ceremony and she felt that it would be sinful.

 

Her exploratory touch, though, was pleasant and provocative. I touched myself more thoroughly, if hesitantly, in my room that night; wondering what her hands would feel like, easing myself into a rhythm. But the sudden image in my head at that point was of strong, male hands touching me and golden-green eyes gleaming in the dark. I stopped immediately, confused and distressed. Dean found me mere days after that, and it was weeks after regaining my memories before I thought back and realised what had happened.

 

Now, lying alone with Dean’s scent still floating in the air, it doesn’t feel forbidden or wrong to think of him that way. If I was fantasising about him when I couldn’t even remember him then there isn’t much point in resisting now anyway. Holding my breath, I slip my fingers slowly beneath the loose cling of my boxer waistband, feeling the warm, rough texture of the hair there. Skating over that, I run my fingertips aimlessly up the engorged flesh below it, exhaling heavily as I assess the way all my nerve endings there seem to be sparking and fizzing with desperate energy.

 

My head falls back onto the pillow and I moan almost inaudibly as my thumb strokes over the tip and spreads the meagre moisture around. Leaning heavily on instinct and trying to summon memories of times I’ve watched humans masturbate, I move my curled hand up and down hesitantly, twisting my wrist as I go. I shift in the bed, trying to find a comfortable rhythm, brain still flicking through memories until-

 

I tighten my grip involuntarily as one of my more deeply buried memories comes back to me, suppressed because it’s stained with shame and guilt. It’s from years ago when I first knew Dean, before I betrayed Heaven for him, before I allowed myself to admit how attached I’d become to the soul I rescued from Hell, before I really understood that I felt any kind of physical attraction to the man. I went to him in the early hours of the morning to relay a message from Uriel, appearing in the motel room almost silently, my wings making barely a whisper.

 

I was facing Sam’s bed so I checked him first, seeing that he was fast asleep. A light sound from the other bed caught my attention and I turned to see that Dean was not asleep, although his eyes were closed. His hands were stretched down below his stomach, the leg closest to me drawn up and blocking them. His face was tensed as though in pain but even as I started to move towards him he gave a pleased hum, arms shifting on his stomach and lips curving in a smile. I cocked my head, confused, and after considering it for a moment I turned myself invisible and walked silently over to Dean’s bed.

 

I understood immediately what he was doing as soon as I got a good view and I was aware that I shouldn’t be watching him, since this kind of thing was considered private by humans. But I’d never really thought about Dean and sex before - probably because sex never usually crossed my mind in the first place - and I found the combination, along with the scene before me, oddly compelling. My vision unhindered by the lack of lighting, I allowed my gaze to travel across Dean, from the rapidly pumping loose fist to the exposed groin and stomach to the way his back arched off the bed to his face, and that was the part which captured me the most.

 

His eyes were mostly closed but they fluttered open now and then, the green colour muted in the dark room, rolling back as the lids squeezed shut again. His skin was flushed and gleaming with a layer of sweat, his lower lip caught firmly between white teeth, breath strained and quiet. He was almost silent but every now and then, he’d let a tiny groan or gasp out. They were becoming more frequent as I watched and I leaned forward in rapt attention, my guilt temporarily forgotten...

 

Back in the present, I come in tandem with the Dean in my memory, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth to muffle the noise. I’m not sure how long I lie there gasping, but it has to be at least several minutes later before a coherent thought floats through my scattered mind. I open my eyes with some effort and gaze at the ceiling, feeling much as I did after eating the Bolognese and the pie. I have just completed another important human experience, and I feel rather accomplished.


	8. Chapter 8

It takes me a good twenty minutes to muster up the energy to get out of bed but once I do, I become aware that I am in dire need of a shower. I quickly strip out of my boxers and shirt, grimacing at the dried mess. Simple pleasures might be an advantage humans have over angels, but the ever-displeasing presence of bodily fluids is not. Wiping myself off with the soiled clothes, I ball them up and wrap them in my t-shirt from yesterday, which doesn’t appear to need washing but is now destined for the laundry anyway.

 

I then debate what I should wear to the bathroom. I don’t have a robe and it seems unnecessary to put on my jeans and a fresh shirt just for a short walk up the hallway. I vividly recall several occasions when I appeared in various motel rooms over the years to find Dean - and Sam, but my memory is less sharply detailed there - with a towel wrapped around his waist so I do that, firmly tucking the end into the slight hollow inside my hipbone. Pleased with my developing grasp of human behaviour, I pick up my small bundle of clothes and head for the laundry, one hand poised to catch my makeshift garment should it slip.

 

The laundry door is ajar and I nudge it open with my hip, which unfortunately tugs on my towel. Grabbing it and holding it up, I almost trip into the small room, dirty clothes dropping to the floor. I want to feel annoyed, but I’m somewhat distracted because the laundry is already occupied.

 

Dean stands about a foot in front of me, hands out to catch me on reflex, face frozen in surprise. His wide eyes travel over my bare torso to where I’m keeping the towel in place with my hand, low on my stomach. I can feel myself blushing and I wonder if normal humans actually have whole days in which they’re not horribly embarrassed at some point. It’s hard to imagine.

 

“Hello, Dean,” I sigh, hoisting the towel up higher and watching as his gaze skitters back up to my face. He opens his mouth but then shuts it again and nods sharply, looking almost annoyed. I honestly just can’t be bothered trying to decipher what’s causing that so I drop down to pick up my balled up clothes. When I straighten up Dean’s eyes are closed and he doesn’t seem to be making any move to do or say anything, so I squeeze past him to examine the two machines there, wondering which one I should use.

 

“Cas.” Dean’s voice is low and rough and I find that I can quite easily ignore the pleasant thrum in my stomach at the sound. Masturbating seems to have had the unforeseen effect of drastically relaxing my attraction to Dean, making it somewhat less difficult to manage and suppress my reactions to him. I muse vaguely on whether this will be a permanent change or just a temporary one as I hum a questioning sound in response to the man behind me, not turning to look at him as I’m reading the words on the closest machine. There’s a short silence during which I conclude that yes, this is the washing machine, and I open the lid, dropping my clothes into it.

 

“Dean, which buttons should I press to-”

 

I turn and my words cut off abruptly as I find Dean hovering directly behind me, eyes directed downwards at my bare skin. I gulp as he raises them to mine, inches away, and I think weakly that perhaps Dean’s effect on me hasn’t been as altered as I thought. His pupils are very dilated considering the bright lightbulb overhead and he still looks annoyed, or something close to annoyance. Whatever it is, it’s intense and it’s clearly directed at me. My fist tightens nervously on my towel and I draw in a deep breath.

 

“What is it?” I ask, unnerved by his silence. He blinks at me and looks down at the floor, scowling.

 

“Nothing,” he mutters and I frown in confusion. He steps back slightly and shoves his hands into his pockets. “You turn the dial to setting three and then press the big round button. Add a scoop of powder first though.”

 

“What powder?”

 

Dean looks back up and the ghost of a smirk appears on his lips. Just as I’m thinking that his behaviour couldn’t be any more confusing and strange he steps forward into my space, almost touching me, eyes trailing down to my mouth. It drops open in shock and my spine stiffens. I only have time to register that whatever calming effect the masturbation had has well and truly passed before he steps back again, holding a colourful cardboard box.

 

“This powder,” he says simply, holding it out for me to take. I shake my head, feeling like I’ve missed an important element of this whole exchange. Dean waves the box impatiently at me, still smirking a little, and I squint at him as I reach out and take it. Is he alright? Is he under some sort of spell? What the hell is going on?

 

“One scoop,” he reminds me. I nod slowly and his gaze sears across my chest and stomach once more before he turns and strides out of the room, leaving me staring after him.

 

I ponder his odd behaviour as I turn the washing machine on and make my way to the bathroom, trying to work it out as I rub shampoo into my hair and scrub my skin with soap. I’m still utterly clueless as I towel myself off, wrapping the material back around my hips. Giving my teeth a careful brushing in front of the fogged up mirror, I exit the bathroom and go back to my room to get dressed.

 

It’s as I’m leaving my room, wearing my outfit from the previous day but with a new grey t shirt, that I stop in sudden doubtful realisation. I replay the image of Dean’s facial expression in my head, the one he wore when he stared at me in the laundry. I put it together with the strange behaviour directly afterwards, the way he leaned so close to me and almost brushed his mouth against mine, just for an instant. I think of his arousal in my bed this morning, the way he whimpered as my leg touched his crotch. I think of the way he’s looked at me several times since I became human, the same way he’s been looking at me for years, that tense, torn look in his eyes and the quickened breathing when we’re close together. I think of Purgatory, all the times that I dismissed as strange human emotional responses to an extraordinary situation, the intensity in Dean’s eyes whenever he spoke to me.

 

Does Dean desire me?

 

I gulp, trying to think past my automatic rejection of the idea. Perhaps I am projecting my own feelings onto him, but I have to admit to myself that it makes some sense, especially with his recent behaviour. I think of Sam and the strange, knowing smirk he always wears when he looks at Dean and I together. Like he knows something secret.

 

But Dean has always appeared to have a very strong, apparently exclusive preference for women. I’ve never really understood sexuality particularly well but I’m aware that if only for biological purposes, humans tend to develop attraction mostly to their opposite sex. For Dean that’s females, and he’s always seemed very open about his sexual and romantic interest in women. I’ve never seen him display those kinds of interests in men. From what I understand, most men only desire women and vice versa. My personal gender identity, whatever that means, is fairly murky since my concept of gender is as vague as my concept of sexuality, but I’m aware that both Dean and Sam tend to view me as very much male. So if I’m a man in Dean’s eyes, and he only feels attraction to women, perhaps it’s not possible for him to want me. My heart sinks as I ponder this flaw in my theory.

 

But then I think more about the idea of Dean developing an attraction to a male-presenting person. It seems unlikely, but from what I know about human emotions and desires, nothing is impossible. And perhaps I don’t know much about human gender and sexuality, but I do know Dean. Dean is an insecure person with a tendency to create personas and masks to present to others. From what I’ve seen throughout human history, same sex attraction is often frowned upon and even in modern times, many people have some sort of incomprehensible problem with it. If Dean felt such an attraction, it would be very like him to ignore and deny it for the sake of maintaining his secure self-image. Perhaps he fears judgement from others, or perhaps he himself has an instinctively negative reaction towards the idea of same sex attraction.

 

I lean against the wall, my head spinning as I argue back and forth with myself. It’s a ridiculous, far-fetched concept, that Dean could feel anything but friendship for me, but my newly human mind seems to revel in it rather than rejecting it logically the way I would have as an angel. And even with all my doubts and rationalising, the more I think about the way he looks at me the more it seems to mirror my own feelings about him.

 

Oh, shit, maybe it’s not just me. Maybe Dean actually wants me too. Maybe...

 

“Cas?”

 

Sam is walking up the hallway towards me, a mug in his hand. He smiles at me, his face open and friendly, and I ask the question on my mind before I can stop myself.

 

“Does Dean have romantic or sexual feelings for me?”

 

Sam stops dead, eyes going wide and mouth dropping open. He blinks at me and I stare back, heart hammering in my chest. There’s a long pause before Sam clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably on his feet, looking away.

 

“Um, that’s probably something you should ask Dean, Cas...”

 

I frown. “He might say that he doesn’t. He might say that even if he does, but he also might say it because it’s the truth. And if that happens, I would be extremely embarrassed and he would be extremely uncomfortable. So, no, I wouldn’t like to ask him this.”

 

Sam sighs and runs his free hand through his hair. “Yeah, I get that. But I can’t just discuss this behind his back. You’re going to have to figure it out yourself.”

 

“But surely you have some idea-”

 

“No, Cas,” he says sharply, meeting my eyes again. “He’s my brother. I’m not talking about this with you, even if I’d like to help you out. You need to suck it up and ask him, or find out some other way, because this conversation is over.”

 

I swallow, feeling selfish and ashamed for trying to push the issue. Sam’s eyes soften and he claps me on the shoulder as he walks past. “Sorry, buddy.”

 

I murmur acknowledgment and listen to his footsteps move away, thinking hard. I can’t ask Dean this. I just can’t, the very idea makes me feel ill. But now that the possibility has taken root in my head, I also can’t just leave it alone. I need to know, because I adore Dean with everything I am and the idea of him returning even a fraction of that feeling is intoxicating.

 

Pacing slowly up the hallway, I think about the moments which tend to make me feel like there’s more going on in Dean’s head than he’s letting on. Practically any time we have close physical contact, for sure. And any time I say anything which might be construed as sexually suggestive or indicative of our close bond. He seems affected at certain times by my physical appearance, when I’m wearing aesthetically appealing clothes or certainly when I’m only wearing a towel. And he always displays his reactions more openly when Sam’s not around.

 

Alright, then. I nod decisively to myself, formulating a rough plan in my head. I’ll try these things out on Dean more frequently - close physical contact, suggestive and affectionate comments, pleasing physical appearance and regular lack of clothing, more time alone together - and analyse his reactions closely. If he doesn’t desire me, then surely nothing will come of it and no one will need to feel humiliated or discomfited. If he does... well, I’m not sure, but it’s worth a try.

 

I take a deep breath as I enter the kitchen and see Dean making coffee. Time to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys aren't big on commenting here on AO3 huh? That's OK, I just hope you're enjoying reading :)   
> This chapter is something of a turning point I guess? I'm sorry to any fans of super drawn out mutual obliviousness, but Cas isn't that stupid and Dean isn't that subtle XD  
> Basically all of Cas's inner monologue about gender and sexuality here is just me ranting because it's all such socially constructed, toxic crap lol


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I won't lie, I love this chapter. It was a lot of fun to write and hopefully it's a lot of fun to read. No points for guessing what's troubling Dean towards The End of this chapter ;)

“May I please have a cup?”

 

Dean jumps as I ask the question directly behind him, leaning over his shoulder and inhaling his scent along with the smell of the fresh coffee. He glances sideways at me and I watch the skin on his neck flush, fascinated by the colour change.

 

“Uh, sure,” he mumbles, sliding quickly away from me to reach up and grab a mug from the cupboard. I frown in disappointment and lean my hip against the counter top. Absently, I take the sugar jar and pull the lid off, glancing down as I lick my finger and dab at the white crystals. I look back up at Dean as I place my finger back in my mouth, sucking slowly. He freezes with the mug in his hand, staring at me with his lips parted.

 

“That’s unhygienic,” he says hoarsely after a beat of silence, putting the mug heavily down on the counter and slamming the cupboard closed. I quickly take my finger from my mouth, dismayed at his clear irritation.

 

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, replacing the sugar jar in its spot. I sigh down at my feet. Maybe I was wrong about Dean possibly wanting me. It was a ludicrous idea, really. Dean is making the coffee in silence and I watch him, noting the tension in his shoulders and the distracted frown on his face. He completes his task and turns sharply, shoving the coffee towards me, clearly expecting me to be ready and waiting rather than lost in my own thoughts. The coffee misses my hands and hits my chest, splashing the hot brown liquid all over my shirt. I jump and swear in shock and pain and Dean echoes me, dropping the mug to smash at my feet.

 

“Shit, sorry, oh crap, I am so sorry,” he gabbles as he steps closer, mug shards crunching under his shoes, eyes wide and horrified. The coffee burned on my skin at first but the sting is quickly subsiding, although my face is frozen in surprise. I blink down at the stain on my shirt and then look up at Dean.

 

“It’s alright,” I assure him, reaching out and squeezing his arm. His green gaze is full of remorse and I smile, touched that he’s worried about something as small as spilling a hot drink on me. At least I can be sure that Dean cares about me, even if just as a friend; that’s the most important thing.

 

“Damn it...” he sighs, rubbing a hand tiredly against his face, but he returns my smile ruefully. “Swear I’m not usually that clumsy. You OK?”

 

I nod. The liquid wasn’t hot enough to do any real damage. “I’m fine. The shirt is ruined, though.”

 

Dean surveys the stained material. “Nah, I reckon that might come out with some stain remover. Probably should go put it in the wash right away, though.”

 

I nod seriously as Dean turns away, crouching to open a low cupboard. About to leave the room, I pause as a thought occurs to me, and though I hesitate and bite my lip, I can’t resist the opportunity. I pull my plaid shirt off and lay it on the counter as Dean takes a dustpan and brush from the cupboard, then my vision is obscured as I yank the sodden t shirt over my head. When I emerge from the cotton, Dean has stood back up, the dustpan and brush dangling loosely from one hand. He’s staring at my bare torso sort of like he was in the laundry, but more like the way he looked at me when I stepped out of the changing room in my new outfit and when I cleaned up after returning from Purgatory.

 

It seems that taking my shirt off again was a good idea. I tilt my head at Dean, highly interested in the way his wide eyes drag across my skin and his mouth hangs open as though he’s forgotten how to control his face. He just looks so fascinated and his breathing has definitely picked up. He doesn’t seem to be disapproving or offended, but why else would he be staring at my bare flesh as though his entire attention has been captured by it? I bite my lip, unwilling to jump to conclusions but unable to quash the flutter of hopeful excitement in my belly.

 

“Dean,” I say softly. He jumps and blushes brightly as his eyes meet mine.

 

“Sorry,” he blurts out. I furrow my brow in puzzlement and he snaps his mouth shut, looking annoyed. “I meant, uh, sorry again. For the coffee. Can’t see a mark though.”

 

He gestures at my chest without looking at it, eyes going instead to the counter top beside him. I nod, looking down at myself.

 

“I don’t think there will be. I’d better go and put this in the washing machine though. You said to use a special stain remover? Where might I find that?”

 

“In the cupboard next to the machine. Blue bottle with a yellow label, or maybe green, I don’t know.”

 

Dean is looking down at the dustpan and brush in his hands as he speaks, fiddling with them, his voice oddly clipped. I mutter thanks and turn away, hearing him sigh behind me as he starts clearing up the mug. I stop and turn back, stepping up to where he kneels on the kitchen floor, head bent down towards his task.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean, I should have offered to help. Is there anything I can do?”

 

He pauses and slowly looks up at me where I stand over him, clutching my shirt in one hand. As before, his eyes skim over my torso, but this time they also flicker down to my crotch, which is only just above his eye level. I shift uncomfortably in the silence, waiting for him to reply. Dean kneels up straighter, eyes latching onto mine, the green shimmering like the reflective armour of a beetle. I get lost in the colour within a few moments and my mind wanders lazily, thinking that Dean looks incredibly good from this angle, that there’s something strangely appealing about the way he’s staring up at me through his lashes, lips parted and gaze intense. I flush as my devious brain suddenly presents me with memories of seeing human lovers on Earth over the years posed like this, and the thought of Dean being on his knees before me like that, for worship of an entirely sinful kind, is unbearably provocative. My heart rate and breathing stumble and speed up as I stare down at Dean’s mouth. I feel dizzy. I feel mad. I feel like if I stand here for another fucking moment I might pass out or-

 

“Um, wow, what is going on here?”

 

Dean and I both visibly twitch in surprise and I draw my breath in sharply as I wrench my eyes from his face to look at the doorway. Kevin is standing there, eyebrows raised comically high, a rucksack slung over one shoulder. I step smartly back from Dean, holding the damp, bundled shirt in front of me defensively, although I’m not sure why I feel threatened. Kevin is staring at my bare torso but there’s none of the entranced focus of Dean’s gaze. I open my mouth to speak but Dean beats me to it, his voice too casual.

 

“Oh, hey, Kev. I dropped a mug, spilled coffee all over Cas, clearing it up. How you been doing?”

 

Kevin looks at Dean and smiles faintly. “Yeah, not bad. Needed the break, that’s for sure. You?”

 

“Yeah, all good here,” shrugs Dean, and I glance at him to see that he’s sweeping the mug shards into the dustpan, face blank. I look back at Kevin but the boy is already watching me with interest.

 

“So you’re human now, yeah?” he asks me, shifting the strap of his bag. I nod slowly. Kevin whistles. “That’s rough, man. You moved in here?”

 

“Yes,” I reply quietly. Kevin glances at my chest again and looks back down at Dean, who’s taking a long time to clear the broken mug up.

 

“Gotta say,” remarks Kevin, staring at Dean for a moment before returning his dark, intelligent gaze to me, “You’re a lot more buff than you usually look with that trench coat on. Is that an angel thing, or do you work out?”

 

I blink, thinking about it. I try to remember what my vessel was like when I first began using it. Much the same, I think. “I don’t, um, work out. The original owner of this body did though. He had gym equipment in his home. Once I took him as a vessel, my grace maintained the body and I suppose the musculature was part of that. Now that I’m human, I imagine that I’ll have to exercise and maintain a regular fitness schedule if I want to continue looking, as you say, ‘buff’.”

 

Kevin chuckles but Dean remains silent, finally standing and striding over to the bin to dispose of the broken mug. I’m starting to get a little unnerved by his closed off expression. Kevin, however, is eyeing him thoughtfully.

 

“Dean can help you with that,” he says, smiling. Dean, who’s wet a cloth from the sink and is kneeling back down on the floor to clean up the spilled coffee, jerks his head up and narrows his eyes at the younger man.

 

“Help with what?” he says gruffly. Kevin sighs as though Dean is testing his patience.

 

“You have a gym room somewhere in this place, right? And like, look at you, you clearly work out. I mean, not as much as Sam, but-”

 

“Sam eats rabbit food and spends all his damn time jogging, so if that’s the price to pay for looking like a male model, no thanks,” snaps Dean defensively. Kevin smirks.

 

“OK, OK. But you do work out, right?”

 

Dean’s eyes flick to me and away again so fast I almost miss it. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

 

Kevin spreads his hands out. “Then it’s settled! You can be Cas’s personal trainer, make sure he’s getting plenty of exercise, staying fit, keeping his abs in shape.”

 

I stare between the two men, thoroughly confused by Kevin’s interest in the shape of my ‘abs’, whatever they are. Dean visibly gulps, eyes widening. He glances at me again, shaking his head.

 

“Cas can use the gym on his own. That’s his business. I ain’t anybody’s personal trainer.”

 

“Ah, come on, Dean,” replies Kevin casually. “Help the poor guy out, he’s never had to actually work on his fitness before. Besides... I’m sure you can think of a few ways to get him sweating, huh?”

 

Kevin winks at Dean, who gapes at him in clear disbelief. Waving at me, Kevin exits the room, leaving a ringing silence in his wake. I frown in confusion. That whole exchange was very puzzling. Kevin is an odd boy, but perhaps all prophets are unusual people. Turning to Dean, I’m surprised to find him hunched over his task on the floor, neck and ears bright red. He looks mortified.

 

“I would actually greatly appreciate some direction in maintaining my physical strength, Dean.” I venture after a drawn out pause. Dean scrambles to his feet and turns to the sink again without looking at me, so I continue to talk, an odd human reaction to the tension in the room. As an angel I probably would have stood in silence or simply left. “Before I fell I was infinitely more powerful and it’s disconcerting to feel so weak as a human. I wouldn’t want to feel any weaker.”

 

Rinsing and squeezing the cloth out, Dean slaps it down in the sink and finally turns to face me, his eyes hostile. I shrink back in dismay.

 

“You think humans are so crappy?” he snarls, stepping towards me. “You think we’re so weak?”

 

“What? No, I-”

 

“Well, sorry you feel that way, but being crappy and weak is sort of the human condition, so you may as well get fuckin’ used to it. Welcome to the club-”

 

He stops suddenly, looking strangely aghast at what he’s just said, and stares at me blankly. It’s like he’s looking through me, like he’s remembering something. He’s really starting to worry me. Twisting the shirt in my hands, I step hesitantly towards him and his eyes flicker back to life, as though he’s come back from wherever he was.

 

“Dean, I don’t think you’re crappy or weak. You know that. I... I think you’re amazing. All of you, all of humanity, although I’ll admit that I’m guilty of favouritism.”

 

I smile wryly at him and he relaxes a little, his mouth pulling up at the corner. I continue in haste, glad to see his mood softening.

 

“It’s like you said. I’m adjusting. I miss being an angel, Dean, and I probably always will. Humans are wonderful, you and Sam have shown me that, but being one is hard for me and-”

 

“I’ll help you,” Dean interrupts. His voice is firm and solemn, the words spoken as a promise. I raise my eyebrows in surprise at his sudden change of attitude and he nods seriously at me. “If you need help adjusting, I’ll make sure you have it. So will Sam. Just...”

 

He swallows and continues more quietly, glancing down at the floor. “Promise me you won’t go off the rails. Even if being human is shitty and difficult, promise me you won’t start... popping pills and... and sleeping around. And stuff.”

 

“Why would I-”

 

“Just promise,” he snaps, eyes fierce. I close my mouth and nod, holding his gaze. He sighs, shakes his head and turns back to the sink.

 

“Good. Better go put that shirt in the wash.”

 

I stare at him for a moment longer before slowly turning and making my way back to the laundry. What a strange morning.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean is gone by the time I return to the kitchen but Sam is in there, rummaging in the fridge. I swallow down my disappointment, irritated with myself. I should be glad to see Sam, especially as he almost died. I watch him from the doorway for a moment, wondering uneasily if he’s annoyed with me for asking him personal questions about Dean. Sam is kind, though, and has always treated me with understanding and patience.

 

As I watch him, he seems to sense my presence. He stiffens, straightens up and turns to face me. I step back, startled. It’s not Sam. I know that instantly, even with limited human senses.

 

“Castiel,” says Ezekiel guardedly, his eyes cold. I tilt my head at him, troubled. He just feels so wrong, so different, but perhaps we all do after the fall. I take another step towards him, determined to start trying to fix this mess.

 

“Ezekiel. I’m glad to see you. I have been meaning to speak with you.” He only tilts his head at me, waiting for me to continue, so I take a deep breath and do so. “What happened to you, brother? I know I’m to blame for a lot of things, but we used to be friends. Can you not find it within yourself to treat me as such?”

 

Ezekiel gives me long, blank look before he replies. “We may have been friends once. But that time is gone now, and I have to think of my own safety in this new era. I understand you doing the same, but do not expect me to look past the fact that your presence here could be the downfall of us both, as well as the two other humans.”

 

I give a little start as I realise that in this statement he is referring to me as human. I forgot for a moment, thinking that in speaking to Ezekiel I was speaking to my kin, that we understood each other as fellow angels. But those days are gone, and apparently so is the Ezekiel I knew and admired in centuries past. A wave of sadness washes over me as Ezekiel turns away in silence and I watch the strong, broad back relax as Sam resumes control of his body. He hums in consideration, pulling out a box of eggs and a pack of bacon. Turning, he jumps a little to find me standing a few feet behind him, staring up at his face.

 

“Shit, Cas! How’d you sneak up so fast? Your wings haven’t grown back, have they?”

 

Laughter thrums in his voice as he says the last words but his smile fades as he takes in my glum expression. He shifts uncomfortably on the spot.

 

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. You OK?” His eyes suddenly widen in alarm. “Wait. Did you go ask Dean that question from earlier?”

 

I shake my head hastily. “No, and I was wrong to approach you about it. I hope that it hasn’t affected our friendship at all. I didn’t really mean to say anything to you on the subject. My impulse control is quite terrible nowadays.”

 

Sam grins and claps me on the shoulder as he moves towards the stove top. “Nah, don’t feel bad. I actually think it’s great that you’re finally addressing it, I just don’t think that I should get involved.”

 

I frown. “Finally? What does that-”

 

“Oh-ho, is someone gonna be cooking something?”

 

I swing around as Dean enters the kitchen, his eyes lit up with interest as he watches Sam heat oil in a pan. He throws me an easy smile as he moves past but his eyes flicker away very quickly and I wonder if, like me, he’s still thinking about earlier on. My mind keeps replaying the image of Dean kneeling before me and it tugs low in my stomach every time, the picture refusing to leave me alone. Now that he’s in front of me I can’t keep my eyes off of him.

 

“Cas still hasn’t tried bacon,” Sam is telling his brother. I focus on the conversation with difficulty. Dean makes a jokingly shocked noise and makes some hyperbolic remark about sacrilege, at which I roll my eyes. Sam continues. “Besides, I said yesterday that we’d do a cooked breakfast today. Although it’s gone ten, so I guess it’s brunch instead. Think you could heat up some beans? And maybe do some mushrooms... you know, the garlic ones you put on burgers?”

 

Dean nods and I watch him move around the kitchen with practiced ease, wielding saucepans and utensils as casually as he does weapons. I sit back on the edge of the table, not really thinking about anything, just enjoying all three of us being together. The encounter with Ezekiel is shoved firmly into the back of my mind, as is the obvious and unsettling knowledge that it’s actually four of us. Dean starts chopping mushrooms and I walk across to the counter to stand beside him, close by his elbow.

 

“May I help?” I ask softly. Dean doesn’t look at me but pauses what he’s doing, eyes flicking sideways. He nods, laying down the knife and walking quickly away. I sigh and begin to slice the mushrooms thinly, being careful and slow with my movements. My mind wanders as I work and I think about the odd, cryptic instructions Dean gave me about not going ‘off the rails’, which I’m fairly sure is an expression and not actually to do with trains. He seemed worried that I would not cope with being human. He told me that he would help me. But if he’s so concerned and eager to support my wellbeing, why is he avoiding me now? I finish chopping the mushrooms and stare blankly at them. It seems that being human does not provide one with a complete, or even halfway complete, understanding of human behaviour.

 

A delicious combination of scents hits my nose at that very moment and I’m immediately distracted, looking up to locate its source. Dean is stirring a pot on the stove, chuckling as Sam says something about Kevin. Sam himself is tending to eggs and bacon, which are cooking in a pan in front of him. I pick up the board full of sliced mushroom and drift towards them, the smell filling my nostrils and making me salivate in a way which annoys me, but the message from my body is clear: I want to eat whatever it is that’s emitting that aroma.

 

Dean glances around Sam’s back at me and he raises his eyebrows, amused. “You OK there, man? You look kinda dreamy.”

 

Sam snorts and Dean snaps his mouth shut, scowling and turning abruptly back to the stove. “Not what I meant, douchebag.”

 

Sam shakes his head, grinning as he flips the bacon. “Sure, sure.”

 

I’m confused but I decide to ignore the parts of the exchange that I don’t understand, as has been my strategy since meeting the Winchesters. I hand the chopping board to Sam and he scrapes the contents into the waiting pot in front of Dean, who’s already placed a range of ingredients into it. I reply belatedly to Dean’s question as I watch him stir the mushrooms around.

 

“I’m fine, Dean. I wasn’t dreaming. I was wondering what that smell is. The very appealing one.”

 

“Well, I don’t know,” Sam replies, but the mirth in his voice is obvious and I prepare myself for more humourous commentary that I won’t comprehend. “Dean, anything in here that you find appealing?”

 

“Sure as hell ain’t your smartass self,” Dean snaps, eyes fixed on the bubbling pot of beans at the back of the stovetop. Sam sniggers and turns to me.

 

“The smell is probably the bacon,” Sam explains. “It tastes pretty great too. Oh look! You’re not the only one who’s noticed. Hey, Kevin. How was your trip?”

 

I turn to see the young prophet hovering in the doorway, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets. He flashes the ghost of a smile at Sam, shrugging. “It was alright. Good to get away. Glad to be back right now, though. I’m starving.”

 

Sam asks me to grab some plates and cutlery so I do so, laying them neatly on the table like I’ve seen it done in restaurants. Kevin pours himself a glass of juice and sits down heavily in a chair, peering up at me as he takes a sip.

 

“So, Castiel. I see you got a clean shirt.”

 

I nod, smiling as I sit down too. “Dean and Sam took me shopping yesterday.”

 

“Cool,” he says disinterestedly. I stare at him and wonder why people make statements or ask questions when they have zero interest in the response. It’s an odd human trait. Sam and Dean serve out the finished food to everyone and lay the empty pots and pans in the sink before sitting down to eat. I pick up my knife and fork and carefully spear a piece of mushroom. I smile as I chew it, not surprised that it tastes amazing. Dean cooked it, after all.

 

Next I try bacon, but to my dismay I find it too salty to really enjoy. It smelled better than it tastes, to me at least. Sam and Dean both look flabbergasted when I relay this to them, although Dean appears mollified when I mention that I much preferred the mushrooms. I enjoy the rest of the meal well enough and before long, all four of us at the table have cleared our plates and are leaning back with contented sighs. I thank Sam and Dean for the meal and Kevin murmurs agreement before taking his plate to the sink and beginning to wash it. I stare at Dean, who is ensconced in a lazy debate with Sam about how best to cook eggs. He’s leaning forward on folded arms, sleeves rolled up and plate pushed away in front of him. He looks relaxed and soft-edged, nothing like the grim and harrowed man I’ve often stood beside in a fight or battled against in an argument.

 

Dean’s eyes meet mine and he smiles at me before pushing back from the table and grabbing both his and Sam’s plates and cutlery, giving one last parting statement about yolks being an integral part of the egg experience. Sam snorts as he too stands, telling me to join him in the library later so that we can start researching the after effects of Metatron’s spell.

 

I agree, hiding my feelings of dismay and guilt. I’ve been so selfishly, obsessively focused on my new human emotions - mostly how they pertain to Dean - that I actually almost forgot about all of my brothers and sisters, stumbling around out there in this harsh world. I have a duty to help them, not to just sit in the bunker and mope over the same man who’s been occupying my thoughts since I met him. But then again, it’s not just Dean that’s had me distracted from the bigger picture. Becoming human has been a whirlwind for me; surely I’m entitled to taking a few days to recover? Surely that’s not so bad of me.

 

Leaving the table, I sigh as I carry my plate to the sink and wait for Dean to finish washing his own. I talk so much more inside my own head now that I’m human, a buzz of constant internal dialogue, observing and pondering and debating and apparently, reassuring myself that I’m always in the right. No wonder humans are often so morally unsure. They seem to have an innate need to emotionally manipulate themselves, as well as those around them.

 

Dean takes my plate and cutlery out of my hands and I jump, having been lost in thought. He smirks at me, raising one eyebrow, and I smile back apologetically, although the expression turns grateful as he proceeds to wash my dish for me.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Dean places the cleaned items on the draining board rack and turns back to me, wiping his hands on his jeans. He winks and my stomach flutters.

 

“No problem, Dreamy.”

 

With the kind of grin that always stopped me in my tracks even when we first met and I was supposedly immune to human charms, Dean sweeps past me and leaves the room. I stand stupidly for a minute or so, wondering at all the mysterious physical reactions Dean is able to trigger in me now, just by doing something as simple as smiling. One thing has never been clearer.

 

Dean Winchester is a dangerous man.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter contains jealous!Cas but only because it's human!Cas... I really think that angel!Cas would be pretty much incapable of romantic jealousy as we'd recognise it. I think if he thought Dean was into someone else he'd just accept it and be quietly sad but ultimately, be glad that Dean's happy. However, humans aren't that selfless XD  
> I did a little shout-out to a certain campaign ;)

I end up spending the majority of my day with Sam and Kevin in the library, researching angels who have become human and discussing possible scenarios involving my fallen brethren which could prove problematic. Sam calls the Winchesters’ friend Charlie and I listen confusedly to his half of a conversation which seems to revolve around computer technology and how it could be applied to detecting algorithms and patterns of events, which in turn could be related to locating rogue fallen angels. I find a book of poetry and peruse it whilst he babbles into the phone, wondering vaguely whether Charlie knows much about me. Dean and Sam have both mentioned her more than once.

 

My mind drifts and I realise that I’ve read the same line of writing over and over as I ponder what Charlie looks like. I’m not sure why I’m so curious, except that the more I think about it the more I can recall Dean in particular, speaking of the young woman with rare fondness. An odd discomfort, almost a fear, jolts in my gut and I listen hard to the faint sound of her voice coming from Sam’s phone. She sounds cheerful and intelligent. I’m not sure why that makes me frown, but it does.

 

Snapping the book shut, I mutter to Sam and Kevin that I’m going for a coffee. I make myself the drink listlessly, wondering for the tenth time what Dean might be up to. I have no idea what he’s been occupied with all day. I add three sugars before remembering that sugar is bad for teeth and my odd, upset mood increases as I think about reducing the amount I put in my coffee if I want to maintain good dental health. Being human is so irritating in these small ways. Leaning against the counter, I sip the hot, sweet liquid and recall the sting as it splashed onto my chest earlier. Pain is different now that I’m mortal. It’s less nuanced but far fiercer and seems to take up my whole attention, where as an angel I was able to compartmentalise, use the pain as the monitoring system it was designed for rather than just breaking down under the weight of it. Pleasure seems to be similar. I never brought myself to completion as an angel but the brief moments of sexuality I did experience were far less all-consuming and far more distanced from me than what I did this morning in my bed.

 

Thinking of Dean.

 

I tip my head back and sigh loudly, feeling disgruntled and distracted. I want to know where he is, not because I have a particular interest in his daily activities or because I’m worried about him. I just want to be around him. I felt this pull as an angel but it was so easy to ignore then, easy to only give in to it when I had a practical reason to station myself near Dean. Now I feel needy and deprived after just a few hours of not seeing him and it makes me clench my teeth in anger. Is this part of humanity too? This pathetic craving for the company of a person, even when said person wouldn’t welcome my presence? It’s idiotic and infuriating.

 

Swallowing down the last of my coffee, I slam the mug down on the draining board so hard that I’m instantly worried that I’ve damaged it. Examining it, I see that it’s unharmed and this only annoys me further. I’m so weak as a human. That same movement made in unchecked anger before the fall would have obliterated the mug into tiny shards and probably dented the metal of the draining board too. Shoving the offending object away, I turn back around with a huff and cross my arms, digging my fingers painfully into my ribs. I think back to Charlie, suspicion prickling across my skin.

 

Is there some sort of romantic connection between Dean and the mysterious girl he so often mentions with warmth in his eyes? I may have decided this morning that Dean might not necessarily be exclusively attracted to women, but even my twisted human logic can’t convince me that females aren’t his preference. I think about what I know of Charlie. She’s young but definitely an adult, she’s very smart, she makes Dean laugh. She’s tough and resourceful and she impresses him; that much is clear from the snatches of stories I’ve been told about Charlie’s adventures with the Winchesters. I’ve never heard Sam or Dean mention any kind of romantic interest in her life, so she could well be unattached. As is Dean, much as my entire being yearns to make it otherwise.

 

I feel a furious despair settle upon me as I think about how very easy and unsurprising it would be for Dean and Charlie to begin some sort of romantic or sexual relationship. Maybe they’re already having one, secretly. Maybe Dean has fallen for her the way he fell for Lisa, the way I fell for him...

 

“Cas?”

 

I look up, startled. Dean is standing in the kitchen doorway, peering at me in obvious concern. I realise that I was probably glaring at the floor as though I wanted to attack it with a power tool and I force my features into a faint smile, dropping my tense arms to my sides.

 

“Hello, Dean. Sorry, I was thinking.”

 

“Yeah, I hope it wasn’t about me. You looked pretty murderous there.”

 

I snort under my breath. Of course I was thinking about Dean. I’m a one-track horse, or whatever the strange human expression is.

 

“No, not about you.” At least I can still lie as a human, when the need arises. “I was thinking about... about Metatron.”

 

My frown reappears as the lie becomes reality and I ponder the impossibly smug little bastard who stole my grace and screwed up Heaven. Not that I can really cast that particular stone, but still. Dean’s expression reflects my loathing and he nods, crossing to the fridge.

 

“Yeah, that’d do it. What a fucking dick.”

 

I smile at him, slipping my hands into my pockets as I relax against the counter. “Even more of a dick than Dick, huh?”

 

Dean glances up as he grabs a beer, eyes twinkling and grin approving. “Maybe. I’ll have to think on that one. Let you know.”

 

I nod, happiness bubbling inside me despite the irritating subject matter of our conversation. This is what I’ve been missing all day, the feeling of mingled safety and excitement that I only ever get around Dean. It’s like the afterglow of rebelling for him never faded and every time I look at him I’m struck anew with the rightness of that decision, how every wrong thing I’ve ever done shrinks in comparison with knowing that I saved Dean Winchester. I just feel so positive around him, so sure that all will be well as long as he keeps smiling at me.

 

“Hey, listen, Cas. I should probably tell you that we’re going away tomorrow, for a few days, Sam and me.”

 

I blink at him, feeling as though he’s spilled coffee all over my giddy joy as well as that damn shirt earlier. “What?”

 

Dean takes a swig of beer and shuts the fridge, leaning against it and eyeing me uncomfortably. “Just for a few days. Two nights, I reckon. Visiting Charlie.”

 

My stomach drops. Of course. Of fucking course. “Charlie.”

 

Dean nods, oblivious to the flat bitterness in my tone. “Yeah, Charlie Bradbury, you know? I’ve mentioned her a few times.”

 

“Yes, you have.”

 

“Yeah. Well, Sam just got off the phone with her. Turns out she just got kicked out of her house share. She seems kinda upset, although typical Charlie, she tried not to let on. Anyway, Sam suggested that we ought to go see her. She’s in a motel, all alone, you know? Thought we’d be good pals and go eat pizza and stuff, maybe try to help her find a new place.”

 

My churlishness fades somewhat at the image he’s building in my head. I know how it feels to be cast out and alone. Suddenly ashamed of my own lack of charity and empathy, I nod and muster up a smile.

 

“That’s a nice idea, Dean. So you and Sam are going for just a short visit?”

 

Dean nods, glancing at the doorway before replying. “Yep. I mean, I couldn’t let Sam go by himself. Not with things the way they are.”

 

I frown confusedly. “You were going to let Sam go alone otherwise?”

 

Dean stares at me for a moment, grip tight on his beer bottle. “Yeah, well, it means leaving you here, which I obviously don’t want to do.”

 

I gaze back at him, feeling a little of that warmth building back up in my chest. Dean glances away, swigging more beer and hastening to qualify his statement. “I mean, ‘cause you’re still finding your feet. As a human. But hey, Kevin’ll be here if you need anything, OK?”

 

“OK,” I agree quietly, my mind fixated on the fact that Dean would rather have stayed with me. Am I being narcissistic to interpret that as the possibility of Dean caring more about me than Charlie? Charlie, who seems so damn perfect when he talks about her? I clear my throat, wondering if it might be stupid of me to prod the issue. I do so anyway, as has become the norm for me since falling.

 

“Dean, you’ve never said exactly what your relationship with Charlie is.”

 

He blinks, green eyes blank. “Huh?”

 

I swallow nervously but plough ahead. “I mean, you do mention her a lot, and she sounds... she sounds really great. I was curious as to whether you admire her in a romantic way.”

 

My voice is quite steady considering how hard my heart is thumping. Dean eyes me suspiciously but when he realises that I’m serious, his expression transforms and he breaks into laughter, leaning one hand on the counter and almost spilling his beer.

 

“Oh Jesus, Cas,” he wheezes, and my brow furrows in annoyance, impatient to know what is so funny. Dean calms down after a few seconds, eyes crinkled in amusement as he chuckles his way to coherence. Eventually, he gets there. “Charlie is awesome, and yeah, kinda cute, although not really my type. But no. Nothing but friendship there. See, Charlie - oh wow, ha - Charlie is a lesbian.”

 

Dean snorts into more laughter, but my irritation has been replaced by chagrin and trickling relief. I smile sheepishly as Dean grins at me from behind his beer, having regained his composure once more.

 

“I see,” I mumble, feeling my cheeks flush slightly. “Well, I didn’t know that.”

 

“Obviously,” Dean chortles, but my mind is already ticking over with this new information. I know all too well that someone’s sexual preference doesn’t make them any more or less attractive, so Charlie being a lesbian in itself wouldn’t rule out Dean having feelings for her. But his genuine and carefree amusement at the idea seems to do so, which makes me feel much better, if a little ridiculous. However, the fact that Dean is so close and so affectionate towards an openly homosexual person is interesting in other ways.

 

“That doesn’t bother you? Her being gay?”

 

I ask the question bluntly and wince internally as it visibly makes Dean catch his breath, the laughter dying from his eyes. He stares at me, an odd fear replacing the mirth. He gulps before replying.

 

“Does it bother you?”

 

My eyes widen as I realise that he’s interpreted my question as disapproval for homosexuality, which is literally the exact opposite of what I want to convey to him on the matter. I rush to correct him, stepping forward, my voice urgent. “No! No, Dean, no, I have no problem with same sex relations. At all. I am indifferent to sexual orientation. I just thought...”

 

Dean frowns at me, his shoulders relaxing but his mouth twisting a little. “You thought I did have a problem with it.”

 

My mouth works but no sound comes out, because I can’t truthfully deny his accusation. Dean nods, his eyes and tone bitter. “You think I’m some kind of redneck who can’t grasp the idea of fucking treating people like they’re people.”

 

“What? No-”

 

“You think,” Dean says loudly, sounding more upset now. “That I don’t believe in that sort of stuff being real, or right or whatever. You, of all people, Cas?”

 

His eyes bore into mine and I swallow, slightly confused by his emphasis on my own relevance. I shake my head rapidly, shrinking back from him, my eyes large and pleading. “Of course I don’t think that of you, Dean. You are kind and open and intelligent. It’s the world you move in which tends to be a little narrow, so I wouldn’t have blamed you for having views to reflect that. I’m glad you don’t. I should have known that you wouldn’t. I’m sorry.”

 

Dean looms over me for a moment longer before seeming to deflate all at once, his expression tired and hurt. “It’s fine.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“I said it’s fine, Cas. I get it.” His tone is gentle and he squeezes my shoulder before stepping back and drinking some more of his beer. Sighing, I watch him regretfully. He’s going away, for at least two whole days and nights, and I’ve managed to leave him with the impression that I think he’s an ignorant bigot. Fantastic.

 

“Anyway,” Dean says quietly after the awkward silence has ticked by for several seconds. “What I wanted to tell you was that I don’t want you feeling like you’re all on your own here, even with Kevin around. If something bothers or confuses you or whatever, you call me or Sam. Got it? That goes for, um, nightmares too. I don’t care what time it is. Call me. You are not alone, OK?”

 

Affection swells within me and I break into a beaming smile, watching Dean blush as I regard him warmly. He is so beautiful.

 

“OK, Dean.”


	12. Chapter 12

Dean and Kevin are in charge of dinner that night, making a stir fry. They cook an enormous amount, two large pans of it, as well as a gigantic pot of rice. I know without asking that there will be enough leftovers to feed both myself and Kevin whilst the brothers are visiting Charlie, and I’m grateful that I won’t have to navigate cooking by myself. Dean delegates various chopping duties to Sam and me whilst he cooks off chicken and Kevin argues with his mother over the phone as to how much sesame oil to add. Finally, he shouts goodbye and hangs up, breathing deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“I fucking hate cooking,” he grumbles as he spoons different pastes and powders onto the cooked meat and gestures for the onions, mushrooms, carrot and beansprouts to be added. Dean smirks but says nothing as he stirs the food patiently and I sniff the air in interest. I haven’t tried Asian food before.

 

After very little time, the stir fry is pronounced ready and Sam drains the rice while I set the table again. It’s delicious and I direct my compliments to Kevin, hoping to lift the frown from his face. He murmurs thanks but barely looks up from the translation notes he’s brought to dinner with him. I grimace internally at the thought of spending the next two days alone with him. Kevin is a good person and a valuable ally, but not exactly cheerful company. Then again, neither am I most of the time.

 

We watch another film, but this time it’s in a different room. It turns out that Dean was absent all day because he was buying furniture and a television and setting up a lounge room, with two comfortable sofas and a bar fridge for beer. Sam and Kevin seem as surprised as I am when Dean leads us there and he looks extremely pleased with himself. It’s very endearing.

 

“Dude, what made you do this?” Sam asks, running a hand across the top of the small but modern TV. Dean shrugs.

 

“We got a whole family unit going on now, and we should have a place to just relax together. You especially, Kevin. Jesus, you need to drink more beers and watch more movies.”

 

Kevin scowls at him but there’s warmth in his eyes, and he flops down onto a sofa with an approving hum. Dean glances at me.

 

“You like it?” he asks, sounding oddly anxious. I cock my head at him, wondering why he’s bothered about my opinion. He didn’t do this for me, after all; he just stated that it was for everyone.

 

“Of course I like it,” I shrug. “You and Sam are always saying that I need to watch more films. This is perfect for that.”

 

Dean grins, nodding happily. “Right! And we’re going to continue your education right now. Sammy, what are you thinking? ‘Alien’ or ‘Terminator’?”

 

Sam is watching his brother with a faint smile on his face, which widens as he considers the question. “I dunno, Dean, you don’t want to start with some nice Disney?”

 

“Watch it, or you’re getting kicked out of the den.”

 

“The den? Really?”

 

I tune their bickering out as I sink down onto the other sofa, drawing my legs up and sitting cross-legged. Dean called us a family unit, and he’s gone and created a shared space for us all to spend time in. I watch him fondly, realising how important this sort of thing is to him. I wish for a moment that things had turned out differently for him and Lisa and Ben, even if it would mean the loss of any chance at spending a lifetime with him. Dean deserves to be happy, and if that happiness doesn’t involve me then it’s still something that I want for him.

 

I’m pulled out of my reverie by the screen lighting up; Dean turns the lights off a moment later. Sam has already settled next to Kevin and I see Dean’s silhouette hesitate for a few seconds as he realises that the only spot is next to me. Not wanting to make him uncomfortable and feeling a little less desperate than the last movie night, I shift up to one end of the sofa, leaving him plenty of room. Sam complains that Dean is blocking the TV and a moment later Dean has sat directly in the middle of the sofa, his thigh brushing against my knee as he leans back into the cushions. I glance around him at the person-sized space left on his other side, confused as to who he thinks is going to sit there. Worried about invading his space, I carefully slide out of my cross-legged position, placing both feet on the floor and creating a good few inches of air between myself and Dean.

 

He stiffens up and then relaxes. I can feel him glancing at me but I ignore it, determined not to be weird and selfish and demanding like last time. Dean went to a lot of effort to create this space and he should enjoy it untroubled. I concentrate on the film instead.

 

It’s barely ten minutes later when, after fidgeting regularly on the spot, Dean casually slings an arm across the back of the sofa, his wrist brushing against my hair. I hold my breath, mind whirring, but then I scold myself immediately. I’m overthinking this. Whether Dean has any non-platonic interest in me or not, he can damn well put his arm on his own sofa without me going into silent hysterics over it. Inhaling slowly and smoothly, I keep my eyes calm and fixed on the screen, trying to follow the plot. I can’t actually remember which film we chose; which one had killer robots? It’s mildly entertaining, either way.

 

I’m just managing to actually become somewhat invested in the fate of Sarah Connor when Dean shifts again. He brings his arm up to scratch the back of his head and then resettles it behind me, this time with his warm hand resting on my shoulder, just barely but enough to make me twitch. My hands clasp each other involuntarily tighter on my lap and I blink rapidly at the screen, unable to look sideways even though I’m fairly certain that Dean is watching me. What does he want? Is he trying to provoke some kind of reaction? Or am I imagining that I can feel his gaze? Is he totally absorbed in the movie and doesn’t even register that he’s touching me? I’m determined not to find out and my gaze doesn’t deviate from the TV, trained there as though my life depends upon the outcome of Kyle Reese’s desperate mission.

 

Dean doesn’t move again, seemingly content to sit with one arm draped behind me, his fingers occasionally moving against my shoulder in a motion which is not quite stroking but always makes me shiver slightly. By the end of the film I’ve relaxed, letting my head loll back against Dean’s arm and bringing one ankle up to rest on my opposite knee. The credits roll and even as I go to stretch and turn a sleepy smile onto Dean, he withdraws his arm and springs off of the sofa.

 

“Next one?” he asks, looking more at Sam and Kevin than at me. I’ve frozen mid-stretch, feeling a little startled at his sudden movement. Kevin shakes his head and gets up from the sofa, yawning.

 

“Nah, sorry. Early night for me. Sleeping a lot helps my brain to process stuff.”

 

“Nerd,” replies Dean good-naturedly, ruffling the young man’s silky dark hair as he leaves. Kevin makes a noise like an annoyed cat and ducks out of the room. Turning to Sam expectantly, Dean’s face falls as he sees that his younger brother is also getting up to go.

 

“Sorry, Dean, my eyes are kinda tired. Might go listen to music for a bit. You and Cas enjoy, though.”

 

Sam shoots me the briefest of raised eyebrows and I frown at him, wondering what he’s trying to communicate.

 

“Oh, come on...” Dean’s protests fade as Sam shrugs and leaves the room, calling back over his shoulder that he wants to be on the road by nine the next morning. There’s a beat of silence before Dean turns back to look at me, sighing heavily.

 

“Well, I guess it’s just you and me,” he says a little too loudly. I tilt my head at him, pleased but a little cautious at the prospect. Dean stares at me for several long seconds and I smile encouragingly, blinking up at him. He inhales sharply.

 

“Lucky, I guess. We get a sofa each now, huh?”

 

My brows draw together in confusion as Dean puts the next film on, but understanding clicks into place - rapidly followed by more confusion and undeniable disappointment - when Dean throws himself onto the other sofa, folding his arms behind his head. I stare across at him, utterly unimpressed, but he keeps his eyes trained on the TV. I guess the roles have been reversed here. Rolling my eyes resignedly, I swing my own legs up onto the sofa, trying to play off the slight hurt in my own head. I’m used to this by now, Dean always inching closer only to pull away and re-establish the distance. It’s a constant rhythm in our friendship, the ebb and flow that I never really questioned much as a angel. Now, though, I’m finding myself more and more interested in disrupting that pattern. I just don’t know if I should.

 

It’s far easier to get drawn into the film without Dean distracting me, and I barely even look at him for the whole thing. My eyes are aching a little by the end and I yawn hugely as Dean gets up to turn the lights back on. He chuckles.

 

“Time for bed, I reckon. You, uh... you know what to do if you have any troubles?”

 

I smile tiredly at him as I unfold myself from the sofa, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah. Thank you, Dean. You’ve been so kind to me.”

 

Dean blinks and then frowns. “Ain’t about being kind, Cas. You’re family.”

 

My smile broadens and on impulse, with no ulterior motive whatsoever, I step forward and slip my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his shoulder. It’s possibly the first time ever that I’ve initiated a hug purely on natural instinct and I sigh blissfully at how very right it feels to express myself this way, how warm and solid Dean is in my arms, how pleasant and familiar he smells. He shaved this morning.

 

Dean makes the oddest muffled noise and takes a moment to respond, but as his hands come up to pat my back I hear and feel his surprised chuckle into my hair.

 

“Huh, OK. Guess I should use the ‘f’ word more often.”

 

I laugh too, squeezing him a little tighter before reluctantly letting go. “I must admit, hugging is really nice. I don’t know why I was so physically removed as an angel.”

 

I’m still standing very close to Dean as I speak, eyes lifted the inch it takes to meet his. I’m watching him minutely, noting the visible dilation of pupils and the way his freckles show faintly on his skin. He swallows, hands sliding down my back and around my waist before finally dropping away. My skin tingles in their wake.

 

“Yeah,” he manages slightly hoarsely after a pause. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

 

He licks his lips quickly and of course I end up staring at them, my calm slowly tumbling away as my heart rate picks up. Shit, I want to kiss him. Maybe I should. I could play it off as confusion about human displays of affection if he doesn’t want me to after all? But that’s manipulative and dishonest. I know full well what the difference is between a hug and a kiss. I sway a little closer, staring shamelessly down at Dean’s mouth, simultaneously trying to talk myself into and out of pressing my own lips to it.

 

“Uh, Cas?”

 

My eyes snap back up and Dean looks terrified. I sigh in defeat. It’s insane for me to think that he’d welcome me kissing him right now. I need to stop letting my own feelings get in the way of logical thinking. I’m probably creeping him out with my closeness and my wandering eyes. Stepping back, I give him a polite smile.

 

“Sorry, Dean. I’m just tired. I’m going to bed now. I might not see you in the morning, but please call or text me when you arrive.”

 

Dean blinks. “What?”

 

“When you reach Charlie. I’d like to know that you and Sam are safe.”

 

Dean blinks again, staring at me as though I’m speaking a different language. Slowly, a frown settles onto his face and he looks down at the floor, annoyance poorly hidden in his eyes. I’m filled with confusion, but at this point a lack of confusion would be confusing in itself.

 

“Yep, fine,” Dean mutters. He shrugs, seemingly to himself, and then gestures towards the door. “You go ahead, get some sleep. I might stay here for a bit.”

 

I hesitate, but Dean doesn’t look up. Stepping reluctantly past him, I look back from the doorway, seeing that he hasn’t moved. “Goodnight, Dean.”

 

He turns his head slightly. “’Night, Cas. See you in a couple days.”

 

My mouth twists at the thought as I make my way up the hall towards my bedroom, but part of me thinks that maybe it might be a good idea to have some time to adjust to humanity without Dean taking up my every thought. And it’s only a few days, after all.

 

That night, my nightmares consist of every time I’ve ever missed Dean in my life. It’s depressing how often that’s been. I wake up in the early hours of the morning, curled up and trembling but thankfully not crying this time. Staring unseeingly towards the ceiling, I reflect glumly that two days is really nothing compared to the year I spent watching Dean build a family with Lisa and Ben, or the months I tried to block out his prayers in Purgatory, or every campaign and crusade I went on in Heaven wishing that I was by his side instead.

 

Two days might be nothing, but I’m still dreading every second.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually dislike aimless texting, especially flirty aimless texting, but everything is great when it's destiel <3 also this chapter gives me the warm and fuzzies in general. I'm not a fluff person unless I'm writing it, apparently XD

The first day is mostly very boring.

 

I get up only after I’m sure Sam and Dean have left, not wanting to feel pathetic and sad watching them go. It’s ten o’clock before I’ve gotten dressed and entered the kitchen. I make myself coffee and PB&J on toast, meticulously washing the knife between each condiment. I take my breakfast into the library, greeting Kevin in a bright voice, asking what he’s researching. He answers in monosyllables, barely looking up. I give up on conversation fairly fast and munch my toast in silence, gaze wandering around the room.

 

I read. I read book after book, skipping some parts and lingering on others, giving up on every few titles but persevering with most of them. At some point Kevin leaves the room and comes back with a bowl of reheated stir fry, placing it wordlessly in front of me. I thank him with some surprise and check the time only to see that it’s early afternoon already. I thought the empty feeling in my stomach was just boredom.

 

After eating, I feel too restless to go back to reading. I gently suggest to Kevin that he should have a break and I wheedle him into going for a walk with me. Huffing dramatically, he eventually slams his book shut and goes to fetch his jacket. He comes back and sees me waiting expectantly by the stairs, wearing the same outfit as yesterday. He frowns.

 

“It’s not too warm out today, Cas.”

 

I tilt my head at him. “I know that.”

 

He makes an impatient gesture. “You’ll be cold. You need a jacket.”

 

“Oh,” I say slowly. “I don’t think I have one. I don’t know what happened to my coat.”

 

Kevin snorts. “Dean didn’t give that back to you? Ugh, creep. Didn’t he keep it once before too?”

 

“Yes, but he only did that as a symbol of confidence that I would return. This time it’s probably just that he’s forgotten to wash it.”

 

The young prophet stares at me for a moment before shaking his head. “Unbelievable. Right, yeah, sure. Well, Dean has more jackets than he needs, he’s bound to have left one behind and you guys are the closest in size. Wait a second.”

 

Kevin leaves again and returns a minute later with one of Dean’s older jackets. I shrug it on carefully, inhaling the smell and smiling. Kevin makes a vague, inexplicable groaning noise and leads the way up the stairs.

 

It’s cool and grey outside. We walk silently up the road, then silently through the small, quiet town, then silently into the general store. Kevin grabs two colas from the fridge, pays for them and tosses one to me as we leave. I thank him and worry aloud about paying him for mine.

 

“Nah, don’t stress about it,” he says easily. “My Mom makes sure I have money and Sam and Dean don’t charge rent. You don’t have any income.”

 

I ponder these words as we head back towards the bunker, the sun low in the sky through the thin clouds. Perhaps I should get a job now that I’m human. But what, and where? I scuff my shoes against the gravel of the road leading to the bunker and swig back some overly sweet cola, thinking about my limited options. Maybe I could become a full time hunter, like Sam and Dean. I perk up at the idea. It makes sense. I have skills and knowledge which could be useful, although my last attempt at hunting wasn’t too encouraging. As Kevin and I descend the stairs into the bunker, I take Dean’s jacket off with a moment of reluctance and hold it out to the boy. He shakes his head, already moving back into the library.

 

“You know where Dean’s room is. It was on the back of the door.”

 

Well, that’s fair enough. I make my way to Dean’s bedroom, hesitating before pushing the door open and stepping in. It feels like a slight invasion to be coming in here without permission. I’ve slept in here, yet I still feel like I barely know the space. Looking around, I can see where Dean has made it his own, decorating it with things that matter to him. A pile of battered photographs litter the top of the chest of drawers and I eye them as I hang the jacket on the back of the door. I shouldn’t snoop.

 

Human impulse control really is awful, though.

 

Drifting over to the photos, I pick them up and look through, smiling at the first few. Dean was surprisingly blond and almost girlish as a child, really nothing like the imposing man he’s grown to be. I wonder sadly what his dreams and childhood joys were before his mother died. There are several photos of him and Sam with matching grins and haircuts at various young ages and one rare picture with John in it, smiling faintly at the camera. He’s got Sam up on his shoulders but Dean is standing next to him, no more than eight years old but holding himself like an adult, a shotgun hefted in his arms. There’s a black and white shot of Dean as a toddler with Mary. She’s beautiful, laughing as she hugs him to her. I can see Dean in her sparkling eyes and easy smile.

 

I sift through a few more pictures, one of them featuring a teenage Dean leaning against the Impala with a gangly Sam, both looking moody. The old leather jacket looks loose on Dean but the amulet around his neck is familiar, as is his casual slouched pose. The next one is the brothers from several years later, both of them young adults. Sam has a schoolbag slung over one shoulder but he’s already taller than Dean, who has an arm around his younger brother and is shouting jokingly at the camera. I chuckle at the accusing way he’s pointing at whoever is taking the photo; Bobby, perhaps? I can’t imagine Dean mocking his father like that.

 

More shots of Sam and Dean, almost definitely taken by Bobby as they’re nearly all in his house or yard. I stare at the familiar walls and furniture, feeling a sudden pull at my throat and belly. I miss it, although I’ve never realised it until this moment. I learned so much in that house. I fell in love, or at least realised I already had, in that house. I found my family in that house. I found myself in that house. I think of Bobby for the first time in months and suddenly wish fiercely that he was here in the bunker with us all. I always liked and respected Bobby, and he was truly a father to Dean and Sam.

 

I’m still blinking back unexpected tears when I get to the next photo, and it almost makes me choke up again. It’s from Bobby’s again, a sunny day in the yard. The picture is of Sam, Dean and... me. I’m stood in the middle, a rare laugh animating my face as Dean is ruffling my hair. Sam stands on my other side, leaning in, eyes sparkling at the camera but face innocent as he sticks two fingers up behind my head. Dean is looking at me and the affection on his face makes my breath catch for a moment. I remember this. I remember us all being stressed and tense because of fruitless research, and Dean exclaiming that he wasn’t going to waste another moment of a nice day stuck inside with books. He grabbed us all beers, even me, and herded us outside. Bobby ducked back in, returned with his old camera and gave us very little warning before snapping the photo. I remember that I was in the middle of cataloguing the different molecules I could taste in the beer when Dean suddenly nudged me and jerked his head towards Bobby with the camera. I glanced at it, already smiling in response to the positive mood filling the air, but the smile turned to a genuine surprised laugh as Dean’s fingers tangled in my hair and his deep chuckle filled my ears. I felt truly certain in that moment that I was in the right place with the right people.

 

My fond smile freezes on my face as I lay that picture aside and see the last one in the pile.

 

It’s me. Just me, and I have no recollection of the photo being taken but I remember when it was. It was when I tried to join Sam and Dean as a hunter, shortly after returning from Purgatory. The photo isn’t great quality and that, coupled with the location of it, tells me that Dean must have snapped it on his phone. It was taken in the retirement home where Fred Jones lived. I’m standing near a window, bright sunlight falling through the blinds in golden stripes. The cat I had been ‘interrogating’ ended up being quite friendly and I’m holding it in the photo, cradling it close to my chest, a soft smile on my face as I peer down at it. The cat looks relaxed and smug in my arms and I look peaceful, one hand scratching carefully behind the animal’s ear, my posture protective and calm.

 

I swallow tightly, my head spinning with shock. I’d never have thought that Dean would take a photo of me in the first place, let alone print out a copy and keep it with him. He must have kept this all through the mess with Naomi, despite his feelings of anger and betrayal. Maybe that’s even when he printed it out, when things got bad between us. The photograph is worn and folded and dog-eared and I wonder how many times Dean has looked at it. I close my eyes and press it to my lips, smiling.

 

“Dude, are you serious right now?”

 

I whirl around, blood rushing to my face. Kevin is standing in the doorway looking highly amused, two steaming mugs in his hands.

 

“Kevin,” I almost squeak, dropping the photo and then scrambling to pick it up again. The young man rolls his eyes and strolls into the room, setting the mugs down beside the photos on the chest of drawers. I clutch the photo as I straighten back up, feeling unprecedented levels of embarrassment. I never felt this affected by humiliation as an angel. Kevin watches me wryly, sipping from his drink.

 

“I made you a hot chocolate,” he informs me, dark eyes still shining with mirth.

 

“Oh,” I reply stupidly, face still burning. I look at the mug for a moment before reluctantly laying the photo back down and picking up the drink, inhaling the scent. “Thank you. It- it smells great.”

 

Kevin nods, his eyes on the picture I just laid down. “Yeah. Hey, that’s a nice shot of you.”

 

I’m not sure what to say so I just shrug. Kevin picks up the photo and examines it, eyebrows raised. He glances at me. “Did you know that Dean had this?”

 

I shake my head and reply in a mumble: “I didn’t even know he’d taken it.”

 

“Huh,” is all Kevin says, staring down at the photograph thoughtfully. I take a sip of the hot liquid, barely able to register that it tastes delicious, far better than coffee.

 

“We should go,” I say after a few seconds of silence. Kevin lays the photo down and nods, picking up his own mug. We head back to the library and settle down to do some more reading. After about fifteen minutes my phone buzzes in my pocket and I bring it out to see that Dean has texted me.

 

_Got here OK. Charlie says hi. Hope u and Kev r all good._

__

I smile broadly and relay the text to Kevin, who looks supremely disinterested. I type back, grinning.

 

_Thanks! Kevin says hello too, or something that might have been an attempt at such. I hope Charlie is doing well?_

__

I pause and then add a smiling face emoticon and a thumbs up one too, for good measure. I hit send and wait, tapping my foot against the floor and earning an annoyed look from Kevin. My phone buzzes again quickly.

 

_Ha ha I bet he just grunted at u... Little shit. Yep she’s fine, we’re looking at local ads 4 house shares. Last one didn’t work out so well._

__

I’m smiling way too much considering it’s just a simple text exchange, but it’s nice to know that I’m speaking to Dean from so many miles away, and I keep thinking about that photograph. I type back as fast as my fingers can manage.

 

_You know Kevin too well. What happened with Charlie’s last house share?_

__

I add a laughing face after the comment about Kevin and a novelty animated question mark at the end of the text, flashing in rainbow colours. The reply comes just as quickly as before.

 

_Damn straight. Ah not sure, something bout dating her housemate and it went wrong. Dude wtf is that question mark_

__

My smile falters as I take this new information in and I think uneasily of how often romantic entanglements ruin perfectly good friendships. Banishing this unfortunate piece of wisdom from my mind, I concentrate on typing back.

 

_That’s a shame. Hopefully the next one works out better for her._   
_I understand your confusion about my question mark, Dean, since you seem uninformed as to the use of them in your own texting._

__

Adding a winking face to make it clear that I’m teasing, I wait in anticipation for the reply. It comes in less than a minute.

 

_Yeah hopefully. Oh I see how it is. Look, I can use a question mark too: can u please go screw urself?_

I snort out loud and Kevin sighs pointedly from across the table, but I don’t even look up. Dean has used the same winking face as me and it makes me think of him winking at me in real life, the way it makes me blush. Grinning widely, I begin to text back, but I’m interrupted by another message from Dean.

 

_Looks like I gotta go, apparently I’m being antisocial (Sam’s bringin out the bitch face)... Talk tomorrow yeah? Take care._

__

My face falls but I hasten to respond.

 

_Talk tomorrow. You take care too, Dean, and sleep well._

__

My thumb hovers recklessly over the love heart emoticon for several seconds before I shake my head and select the simple smiling face along with a snoozing face and a crescent moon. Pressing send, I heave a sigh and lean back in my chair.

 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Kevin mutters from behind his book.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote and published this well before S12 aired so the 'sunshine' thing is actually a coincidence :) I totally stole it though, from the amazing fic 'Take me home country roads' by saltyfeathers on here <3   
> When I published this on ff.net it was accompanied by a chapter-length AN ranting about the S11 finale - which still makes me mad - so be glad that you escaped that XD

After following the dinner and movie routine - Kevin puts on ‘A Beautiful Mind’, perhaps ironically, and I don’t want to admit to myself that I like it better than Dean’s taste in films but I do - we have an early night, mumbling goodnight to each other before shuffling off to bed. It’s sort of comfortable, being alone with Kevin. I lie in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling and letting my mind drift. I think about the photo Dean has of me and squeeze my eyes shut in a tight grin, wrapping my arms around myself. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, of course, except that Dean cares about me and perhaps misses me when I’m gone. But I already know that. What I keep wondering is, does it mean anything more? I’m more determined than ever to keep on with my gentle experiments and try to find out something conclusive.

 

Casting my mind around for something else to occupy my brain, I think about the other angels out there and hope fervently that they’re all getting by alright. At least they still have some powers and strength, and they can’t starve or suffer from the elements. They must be so confused though.

 

For the first time, I don’t have an actual nightmare, just a generally unpleasant dream. In it, I’m a nameless fallen angel, no connections or friends, just drifting through moonlit streets and wishing that I was in Heaven. I wake up in the early morning rather than the middle of the night, feeling well-rested but saddened by my dream. It’s probably the reality for most of my kin right now.

 

I’ve showered, shaved and brushed my teeth before I hear Kevin emerge from his room. Dean left my washed and dried t shirts outside my room before leaving, so I put on the white one underneath the red and black plaid that Sam picked out. I grab my phone and give it a cursory check as I walk up the hallway, only to stop abruptly. There’s a text from Dean, from last night.

 

_Goodnight, Cas._

__

I gape at it, annoyed with myself for missing it. I check the time and see that it was sent within half an hour of my going to bed last night. I must have only just fallen asleep when it came through. Scowling as I enter the library, I mutter good morning to Kevin and then brighten as that gives me an idea. I type out a belated reply to Dean’s text.

 

_Good morning, Dean._

__

I add a widely grinning face and a sunrise, along with a songbird and a cup of coffee. It’s half past nine, not exactly dawn, but I don’t really care about the accuracy of my emoticons. I just enjoy them. Heading into the kitchen, I make two coffees and take one to Kevin, who looks genuinely grateful and gives an unusually sweet smile. My phone buzzes in my pocket at that moment and I whip it out quickly, ignoring the prophet’s sardonic look.

 

_Mornin sunshine!_

__

I bite my lip around a pleased grin and Kevin shakes his head, chuckling. “Oh, wow. Sam would be laughing his ass off right now. Or maybe vomiting. You two are just too cute.”

 

I frown down at him, taking an annoyed sip of my own coffee. What is nauseating about texting? I have to agree with him about the cute part, though. Being called ‘sunshine’ by Dean is very cute and I like it a lot. Wandering back to the kitchen, I grab an apple out of the fruit bowl and begin to eat it slowly, in small bites. I stare at my phone for a few seconds before typing.

 

_How is everything?_

__

I add the sunrise emoticon again, twice, hoping that Dean will correctly interpret it as approval for the nickname. I’ve returned to the library and sat down before he replies.

 

_Yeah not bad. We’re gonna look at some places today. U?_

_I’m not doing very much. Kevin is working hard as usual. I’ve been reading. We have some interesting books in the library._

_If by interesting u mean fucked up yep. U seen the one about witch sex rituals?_

_No. I’ll look for it._

_Don’t! Gave me nightmares. Speaking of, hows ur sleeping going? All OK?_

__

I smile fondly at his concern, even as I ask Kevin about the witch sex rituals book. Kevin grimaces and points to the shelf behind him.

 

“Red spine, silver lettering. Freaky etching thingy on the front. Ugh, why does Dean want you to- you know what? Never mind.”

 

I shake my head at his rambling, typing a reply to Dean as I walk over to the shelf.

 

_Actually fine, I slept well last night. Thank you for asking. I’m looking for the book..._

_Good. OMG Cas u will regret it, trust me._

_Will I? It looks really informative, Dean._

_Ha ha go to chapter 3, that shit is crazy._

__

Grinning, I flip to the specified chapter, which is on blood letting. I examine the images with interest and read the introduction, which explains that the sexual energy which is apparently very valuable in magic can be intensified by carefully timed cutting and blood-sucking during sexual intercourse, obviously with the right incantations spoken and incense burned. I’m actually so interested that I almost forget to text Dean about it.

 

_This is all very vampiric. I didn’t realise that witches liked to ingest blood as well as spill it._

_Yeah well witches r fucked up, I have always said this._

__

I bite my lip again as I read more of the chapter. If the claims in this book are true, sexual energy can be a really powerful booster ingredient for a lot of spells. I can’t help being curious, although I feel oddly flustered as I type the next text to Dean.

 

_Have you ever used sex in a spell? It sounds like it could give a considerable edge to a wide range of magic._

__

I don’t add any emoticons to that message, for the first time. Dean takes several minutes to reply and I fiddle with the book, beginning to sweat slightly, jumping when my phone finally buzzes.

 

_I tend to think of sex as kinda personal, not part of the job. Sure as hell not banging any witches if I can help it. Why, would u?_

 

I blink at the message before realising that I read it wrong; Dean is not propositioning me, most unfortunately. I consider the question and reply honestly.

 

_Having not had any experience with actually having sex, I don’t know if it’s personal to me or not. I suppose I would do just about anything to save a life._

_... Still?_

__

I frown down at the one word text. Is Dean asking if I’m still a virgin? Surely he knows that I am.

 

_Of course. Who would I have had intercourse with?_

_Um u were married that time? And I figured something happened with Meg._

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Meg liked to flirt with me, but she never once tried to actually progress past flirting until the day she propositioned me using my old pizza metaphor, save one rushed kiss outside Rufus’s cabin. I’m still not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved that we never got the chance to follow through on our agreement to have sex. Certainly, I wish that Meg hadn’t been killed; I grew very attached to her during my time in the mental facility. I sigh and type back.

 

_Daphne and I were not legally married and she had moral issues with taking advantage of me. She was a very pious woman. And whilst Meg and I may have been intending to have sex, it never actually happened._

__

I add a shrugging emoticon to show that I’m not overly bothered by my virginity. There’s another wait of at least two minutes before Dean replies.

 

_OK, but still, they’re not the only girls in the world. How come u never just went and picked up?_

I roll my lower jaw, mildly annoyed now. Why must Dean always act as though having sex is an integral part of life? Apart from my inappropriate and distracting lust for him, I very rarely even think about sex. If I didn’t know and desire Dean, I would probably live my life as celibate and never feel bothered about it. I can’t explain that to Dean, though, and for some reason I don’t want him to think that I’m entirely asexual.

 

_I’m terrible at flirting. You know that. I doubt that I would have any success._

__

I add an animated emoticon shaking its head. Dean’s reply is quick and short.

 

_Trust me, u would!_

__

I tilt my head in interest and type my natural response to his statement.

 

_Why?_

__

There’s another pause, as though Dean is thinking more about his reply this time.

 

_Come on, u know. Ur attractive and u listen and shit. Chicks would be all over u._

__

I inhale deeply as I read that text over again, leaning back against the bookshelf. Dean thinks that I’m attractive.

 

_Thank you. To be honest I don’t really want chicks all over me though._

__

I meant to imply that I would be more inclined to seek out a serious, monogamous relationship - again, in a world without Dean - but his reply immediately informs me that I’ve been misunderstood.

 

_OK well that’s cool too it can be guys if that’s what ur into, I ain’t gonna judge_

__

I huff a breath of laughter at the slightly frantic pace of the text message, the nervous energy that comes through just as clearly as if he’d been speaking to me face to face. It’s touching that Dean is so ready with his reassurance and besides, he’s not overly wrong. I type out my response carefully, trying to be as honest as possible without just admitting that my sexuality revolves around him.

 

_Thank you again for your support, but I’m not ‘into’ anything in particular. I meant more that I don’t think I would enjoy propositioning strangers._

_Ha ha OK sorry. Yeah fair enough, good. I have to go, say hi to Kevin for me OK?_

I sigh, knowing that Dean’s probably feeling awkward even though he’s done nothing wrong.

 

_You have nothing to apologise for. Of course, say hello to Sam and Charlie from us here. Have a good day, Dean._

__

I end the message with another beaming emoticon, a waving hand and a thumbs up. I wait five minutes but no more texts come through and I return my phone to my pocket with a rueful smile, taking the book back to the table with me.

 

“Finished sexting?” Kevin asks without looking up from his notes, a smirk in his voice. I furrow my brow, unsure what that word means until I realise that it’s a clear portmanteau. Dean and I were discussing sex, so it’s quite accurate.

 

“Yes,” I reply calmly, and Kevin looks up at me with something like alarmed shock on his face. “Dean says hello to you, by the way.”

 

“Ew,” grimaces Kevin. “Rather you guys kept me out of that shit, thanks.”

 

I frown in confusion. Does Kevin disapprove of texting? Why? Shrugging, I return to the book in my hands, quite interested to learn more about witching traditions and rituals.

 

Lunch is stir fry again, and even though it’s very tasty I’m starting to get a little tired of it. I’m relieved when Kevin voices this opinion out loud, suggesting that we order pizza for dinner. I read for another hour or so before I simply don’t want to any more and I snap the book shut, casting around for something to do. It’s even colder than yesterday outside, and raining. I like the idea of watching a film but I have no idea what to watch. I think back to what Sam said the night before he and Dean left.

 

“Kevin,” I say tentatively. “Do you want to watch a Disney movie?”

 

Kevin pauses and then looks up at me slowly. “You’ve got to be joking.”

 

I shake my head, eyes hopeful. Kevin stares at me for another moment before an unexpected smile steals onto his face.

 

“Actually,” he says, “I’d love to. Have you seen ‘The Lion King’?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRYYYYY for the lateness, I was moving across the planet. To make up for it, this chapter is extra long (OK it was anyway, but still).  
> So, an announcement. This story is 40+ chapters and will be 50+ by the time I finally finish it. To keep on top of tags, I'm posting the fic on here in a three part series. The next segment will be called 'Complication' and I'll start posting it soon after I've posted the rest of this segment, which only has two more chapters after this.  
> Castiel IS the little mermaid, it is legit the same story.

I develop a deep appreciation for Disney movies very quickly. Kevin and I watch two before dinner and then we watch another whilst eating pizza. ‘The Lion King’ and ‘Finding Nemo’ are excellent and whilst I enjoy ‘The Little Mermaid’ too, something about it makes me mildly uncomfortable. Kevin leaves after the third film, saying that he needs to get some more translation done before he goes to bed.

 

I watch ‘The Little Mermaid’ again, wondering what it was that was nagging at me the first time. I get up to the reprise of ‘Part of Your World’ before it hits me. Ariel reminds me of myself. Fascinated by humans but never really considering acting on her private dreams until she rescues a human and becomes enamoured with him, leading to her becoming human too. It’s practically identical to my own story. I grimace and turn the film off, not wanting to think about the glaring difference: Ariel and Eric’s love was not unrequited. Full of pizza - which is just as delicious as Dean and Sam always claimed - and feeling sleepy, I stretch out on the sofa and gaze at the ceiling, pondering the key differences between angels and merpeople. I’m not even aware that I’m falling asleep before it happens, washing over me just like the ocean...

 

I dream that I’m Ariel, but also myself. I’m in a drowned version of the bunker, swimming through the underwater rooms, searching for any signs of life. I see Sam and Kevin and Bobby and Meg flitting by, walking as though they’re still above the surface, untroubled by the lack of air. Flounder darts ahead of me, a flash of colour in the gloom. Still I search, more and more frantically. Finally, I see him. Dean is not upright and functioning like the others. He floats as though dead, eyes closed, skin white, dressed in Eric’s clothes. Swimming faster, I try to call out to him, but only bubbles escape my mouth. As I watch his mouth moves too, and I hear his voice as though he’s right next to me.

 

“Cas.”

 

Straining to reach him, I cry out soundlessly as a hand grabs my shoulder, pulling me back from him, away from him...

 

“Cas, buddy, wake up!”

 

I awaken with a gasp, scrambling to sit up in the dimly lit room. It takes me a moment to realise that Dean is crouched next to the sofa, peering up at me with sharp, worried eyes. I breathe heavily as I stare at him, blinking confusedly.

 

“You said you were sleeping better,” he reprimands gently, his eyebrows drawing together. His hand has slipped down to my elbow and his thumb rubs circles into my clothed skin, slow and soothing. I blink again, slumping back against the arm of the sofa and not taking my eyes off of him.

 

“You’re back,” I murmur. Dean nods.

 

“Yeah, well, Charlie got lucky and found a place just after lunchtime. Sam and I figured we may as well just head back rather than spend another night away. Why’d you sleep in here?”

 

I shrug. “I didn’t mean to. Kevin and I were watching Disney films.”

 

Dean snorts, dropping his hand from my arm. I wish he’d kept it there. “Kevin likes Disney? Oh, man, I am not gonna let him forget that. Well, Sleeping Beauty, it’s one AM so you should probably head to actual bed. So should I, come to think of it.”

 

I stare at him and open my mouth, wanting very badly to suggest that we head to the same bed rather than separate ones. But Dean looks relaxed and soft-eyed and I don’t want to cause that awkward, pained look to pass over his face, which it inevitably will if I push him towards anything that he himself hasn’t suggested. Nodding tiredly, I watch him stand up and I take the hand he offers me, letting him pull me to my feet. The movement brings us close together and I let my gaze melt into his, not currently able to hide the longing in mine.

 

“I’m glad you’re home,” I almost whisper. Dean releases my hand after a pause but his eyes flicker between mine for several seconds before dropping to my mouth. He looks like he wants to kiss me, although I have no way of knowing for sure. There’s one obvious way of finding out, and I’ve never wanted to try it so much. I lean forward, sleepiness making me weak.

 

“Hey, Dean, d’you find him?”

 

Sam’s voice comes quietly but clearly from the hallway, moving up towards us. I close my eyes and shut my parted lips, frowning. Dean inhales sharply before stepping back from me and I open my eyes to see him moving towards the door.

 

“Yeah, in here, he fell asleep on the sofa.”

 

“Aww.” Sam appears in the doorway, grinning good-naturedly, and I muster up a smile of greeting.

 

“Hello, Sam. How was your trip?”

 

Sam yawns hugely before replying, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah, good. Just want to go to sleep now, though. It’s a long drive.”

 

Dean nods in agreement, not looking at me, and I sigh. “Yes. Well, goodnight.”

 

I move past them and I’m almost in the hallway before Dean says my name, very quietly. I turn back with raised eyebrows and he gazes at me for a moment, biting his lip invitingly. I try not to scowl at the sight. It’s not fair.

 

“Goodnight,” he mumbles eventually, holding my gaze. I nod, a little impatient, and give a vague wave before I stumble towards my bedroom, too tired to brush my teeth. I pull off my jeans and plaid shirt, laying them on my chair, and slide between the sheets with a sigh. It doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep again, and my dreams are muddled and colourful. I don’t really remember them when I wake up.

 

Dean and Sam are eating cereal in the kitchen when I walk in and I smile brightly at them both, feeling rested and alert. Dean frowns grumpily at me and Sam gives a tired chuckle.

 

“I can see which one of us didn’t go on a seven hour drive yesterday,” he says teasingly between mouthfuls of granola. I laugh and pour myself a coffee before sitting down at the table with it. I look between the two brothers and my thoughts from while they were away, about becoming a hunter with them, clamour insistently in my mind. I take a deep breath.

 

“Dean, Sam, I’d like to give hunting another try now that I’m human.”

 

They both pause, glancing at each other meaningfully. Dean gestures at his brother with his spoon before he scoops up some more sugar-dusted cornflakes and shoves them in his mouth, eyes trained on the table. Sam sighs before speaking, his voice soothing.

 

“That’s great, Cas. And we’re sure you could get really good at it. But maybe it’s too risky right now. Too dangerous.”

 

I narrow my eyes at him before staring suspiciously at Dean, who doesn’t meet my gaze.

 

“Dean?” I ask quietly. “Do you agree?”

 

Dean glances at me and nods, eyes darting back down to his cornflakes.

 

“I see,” I say flatly. Sam is eyeing me nervously. “So an ex-angel with prior experience and eons of combat training is at too much risk in this otherwise risk-free career path?”

 

“Cas, you’ve been human for less than a week,” snaps Dean, finally holding my gaze. “You said it yourself the other day. You feel weak and vulnerable. That’s not what a hunter needs to be. And besides, every angel out there is probably on red alert looking for you.”

 

“I really doubt it,” I argue, carefully not looking at Sam because I just know that Ezekiel is listening to this conversation and feeling extremely vindicated right now. “And I only feel that way relative to how I used to feel. I’m sure I have strength and skill enough to make a reliable hunter.”

 

Dean frowns at me for several seconds before sighing and shaking his head. “Maybe. We’ll see. Just not quite yet, OK? Stay safe for a bit longer before you throw yourself into danger. Please?”

 

I glare at him but the genuine concern in his eyes wins me over. Nodding resentfully, I slump back in my seat and take a gulp of coffee, staring irritably at the table. Sam and Dean quietly eat their cereal for several minutes whilst I think about how I can convince them to let me join them as a hunter. An idea occurs to me but I hesitate, unsure whether I ought to push Dean on this. It can’t hurt to try. Clearing my throat as Sam gets up from the table, I speak, making Dean pause in pushing his own chair back.

 

“Dean, what if you trained me?”

 

He eyes me suspiciously. “What?”

 

“You did say before that you want to help me settle into being human, however you can. Well, I’d be very grateful if you’d train me in your profession. Humans have professions, and I’d like mine to be hunting. You could test out my combat skills and occult knowledge and then teach me anything else I need to know. Train me, like Kevin suggested.”

 

My voice is confident. I feel like I remember everything about balance, positioning and defensive maneuvres from my fighting experience as an angel, but my reflexes and strength have changed drastically. So yes, some training would probably be prudent. And although it’s only just occurred to me as an afterthought, the idea of spending extended time alone with Dean is just too appealing to pass by. Dean is looking reluctant and I stare pleadingly at him, remembering that it seemed to have some sort of persuasive affect on him during my first night here. He scowls but nods shortly, getting up from the table.

 

“Fine, fine. I guess we can see what’s changed and what you need to work on. I don’t know when... maybe before dinner. Meet me in the gym at four, OK? Don’t wear your new stuff. I’ll chuck some sweats in your room.”

 

I nod eagerly, smiling widely. Dean shakes his head and mutters as he washes his bowl and spoon before leaving the room. I finish my coffee quickly and head into the library, sitting with Sam and trying to stay focused as he explains how to use the system Charlie helped him set up for monitoring possible fallen angel activity. It takes until one in the afternoon to get through everything Sam has to say on the matter and my head is spinning with the magnitude of the problem by the time we gather in the kitchen to finish off the last of the stir fry. I’m more determined than ever to take up hunting; surely it’s the best way to ensure that I’ll be equipped to deal with any issues I come across concerning my kin. Or at least, my ex-kin.

 

Dean has been quiet all morning, moving sporadically in and out of the library. After lunch he settles across the table from me and since I’m just reading an old wartime novel, it’s easy for my gaze to wander to him, more and more as the afternoon wears on. He looks so damn good, as always, but it never fails to strike me. His bottle-glass eyes flit across the document he’s scanning, those sensuous pink lips pursing and then parting as he reads the words silently. The familiar freckles are a barely visible constellation across his nose and cheekbones, the coppery colour a match for his brown hair. I sigh quietly and he instantly looks up, meeting my eyes. I blanch, horrified at being caught, and look back down at my book. I can feel my face heating up. Crap.

 

He shifts in my peripheral vision and I swallow, trying to keep my expression neutral. I hear him clear his throat quietly and it’s as if my skin just won’t cool down. I stare blankly at the page I’m on, struggling to make the words form meaning in my head, but I feel on edge. Eventually, I give up.

 

“I’m going to my room,” I mutter as I get up from the table. Sam and Kevin barely spare me a glance each but Dean watches me closely, looking concerned. Again.

 

“You OK?” he asks gruffly but seriously. I nod, summoning a smile.

 

“Of course. I’ll see you later in the gym.”

 

It’s barely three o’clock, and Dean and I haven’t scheduled our ‘testing’ session until four. Still, as soon as I get to my bedroom I start willing the time to go faster, impatient to be moving and active. I eye the clothes Dean threw onto my bed for a solid five minutes, drumming my fingers restlessly against my thigh. Finally, I snap.

 

Rolling my eyes, I go and brush my teeth, all too aware that close proximity to Dean is guaranteed in combat training. I apply more deodorant too and try to finger-comb my hair into order before giving up on that venture. It’s stupid, but that niggling suspicion that Dean harbours an attraction to me is always in the back of my mind and it makes me far more aware of how I might appear to him at any given moment. Stripping off my clothes, I put on the allocated gym outfit. The grey sweatpants are very comfortable, as is the thin white v-neck t shirt. Feeling slightly chilly in the single layer but knowing that I’ll soon be warming up, I make my way quickly to the gym.

 

There are a few large floor mats padding the linoleum in front of the floor-length mirrors on one side of the room. I step onto them, trying to recapture and recreate my old angelic mindset. Inhaling deeply, I fall into a familiar fighting pose, an imaginary angel blade gripped in my right fist. Working partly on instinct and partly from old memories of training exercises, I begin to whirl through various stabbing, crouching, rolling and swiping movements, my motions sharp and aggressive.

 

It’s not the same, yet it’s better in some ways. I can feel how slow and weak I am compared to before I lost my grace. However, I can also feel the exertion on my body and how I can push through it. I can feel sweat dampening the nape of my neck and under my arms, heat radiating from my core. I can feel the savage satisfaction that comes with my violent movements, as opposed to the almost apathetic attitude I had whilst fighting as an angel. I can feel the strain and the burn and the ache and what I can only assume is adrenaline, which I never needed before I was human. It feels good. It’s a different kind of pleasure, unlike appetising food or pleasant smells or soft material against my skin or sexual gratification. I defeat my tenth imaginary enemy and spin to a halt, chest heaving and perspiration cooling on my temples.

 

It’s a few seconds before I look closely enough at the mirror before me to see that I’m not alone.

 

I turn abruptly, feeling my skin flush as I stare at Dean. He’s stood in the doorway dressed very similarly to me, a bottle of water dangling from one hand. His eyes are wide and he gulps as I meet them, the colour rising in his own face even higher than mine.

 

“How long have you been there?” I ask uncomfortably, my voice still breathless. It’s hypocritical of me to be bothered by Dean watching me without my knowledge. I’ve done it to him enough times over the years. He drops his gaze to the floor, licking his lips nervously, and I copy the action before I’m aware of doing it.

 

“Not long,” he says after a pause. Green eyes raise slowly back up to mine and he gives a small smile. “Gotta say, Cas, it doesn’t look much like you need my help with training.”

 

I frown, knowing that he’s right. I might not be as formidable an opponent as I once was, but I could still best most creatures in a fight. Sighing, I run a hand through my hair and nod, eyes drifting to the wall.

 

“I suppose not. I appear to have retained my superior combat skills, so I guess there’s no reason for you to be here...”

 

Dean snorts. “Hey, did I say I was leaving? And don’t act too cocky. You might still be a badass, but I doubt you could take me or Sammy down.”

 

I tilt my head at him, a smile creeping onto my own face at his teasing tone. “You really think so?”

 

“Oh, I know so.”

 

I’m smirking now. I step towards him, eyebrows raised, and beckon him with one finger. “Let’s find out.”

 

Dean’s smile freezes and he appears to be holding his breath. He stares at me for a long, silent moment before his eyes narrow and he drops the water bottle onto the floor, striding forward onto the mat. “Fine, but no crying when you lose.”

 

“I promise. Is the winner the first one to keep the other subdued for more than a few seconds?”

 

Dean nods, stretching his arms out behind him and then upwards. He says something at this point but I’m far too distracted by the way his shirt pulls up, exposing his stomach and hipbones. The sweatpants pull taut across his crotch for a moment, leaving very little to the imagination. I shut my eyes, suddenly feeling like this is a potentially disastrous idea, but it’s too late to back out now.

 

“Ready?”

 

I open my eyes and Dean has assumed a defensive crouch, both arms raised in front, clearly ready for combat. I try to clear my mind, imagining that I’m an angel again, looking anywhere but into Dean’s eyes so that I can picture him as someone or something I’d be willing to attack. I take a deep breath and nod firmly, standing upright with my hands loose at my sides. Dean smirks and lunges forward.

 

It’s fairly easy to evade him the first few times. I adopt a purely defensive strategy, partly because laying a violent hand on Dean is anathema to me - especially after Naomi’s torture - and partly because I don’t really need to do anything but wait for an opportunity. Dean is quick and strong and fast-thinking, but not overly subtle. He always either misses me entirely or lacks the skill to keep hold of me when he does manage to grip my arm or a handful of shirt. I dodge and twist and duck, almost dancing around him, keeping just behind him or out of his reach. It’s fun. I find myself laughing slightly as he makes a triumphant sound when twisting my arm up behind my back and dragging me to him, only to swear as I yank him down and use the momentary release to twirl away again.

 

He pauses for a moment, panting a little, and I make the mistake of meeting his eyes with a grin on my face. The answering smirk he gives me is nothing short of wicked, and it’s my undoing. He darts forward and literally tackles me to the ground, catching me around the waist before I have the presence of mind to react. Dean is a heavy man but it’s mostly hitting the floor that winds me, knocking the breath from my lungs with painful force. I’m gasping, eyes closed on impact, as he scrambles up beside me and grabs my wrists, clearly intending to restrain me.

 

Some kind of fighting instinct finally kicks in and for a moment, I forget it’s Dean. Twisting my body up off of the floor, I wrench one hand free and use it to grip Dean’s shoulder, dragging him above and across me. He grunts as I slam my knee into his side and use the momentum to roll on top of him, straddling him easily.

 

I have his wrists pinned above his head in one hand and the other fist raised to strike before I come to my senses, blinking down at the helpless man beneath me.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Reading this chapter over before posting it was a mildly cringey experience but I couldn't bring myself to change it XD I hope you like it :3

“Shit...” I breathe, lowering my fist but remaining frozen in place, panting. Dean is too; I can feel the harsh movement of his breath against my thighs and knees, see the way his chest heaves. An apology begins to form on my tongue until I see that Dean doesn’t appear at all offended or afraid.

 

I don’t have words for the look on his face, but I recognise it all the same. His eyes glitter up at me and it’s just like in the kitchen, when he knelt before me and wordlessly undid my composure with nothing but that look. I lean down towards him, placing my weight on my free hand beside his head, coherent thought fading. His lips part and he thuds his head slightly against the mat in an odd, apparently unconscious twitch of frustration, the movement travelling down his body in a sort of shudder. It reaches his hips and I inhale sharply as he arches them up, closing the few inches to press them against my own.

 

He’s hard. Maybe not fully, but there’s no mistaking that firm jut through the thin material of our sweatpants. I know full well that I’m responding in kind, shamefully fast, as though he’s issued an order and I’ve jumped to obey. My gaze flickers hungrily down his body and then up again, meeting eyes which have widened in belated shock. He drops back to the floor, his expression turning from intense to fearful in seconds. Tugging his wrists sharply, he pulls one hand free from my tight grip and wrenches his gaze from mine in the same moment, clearly intending to push me off and escape. Panic blooms in my chest, followed closely by desperation. He can’t leave, he clearly wants me, surely he has to stay-

 

Catching hold of his wrist again with my free hand, I slam it back down to the mat by his other arm and spread my knees apart at the same time, settling my weight onto Dean, intending only to keep him in place for a moment more. Both of us catch our breaths in unison at the contact and I can’t think properly, can’t quite catch up with what is actually happening long enough to engage some common sense. Instead I rock down and forward on instinct, giving a low groan as my erection presses and rubs against Dean’s. His eyes reel back slightly before closing and he hisses through gritted teeth. I bite down hard on my lip to keep my moan quiet as I roll my hips again, eyelids fluttering in pleasure. My gaze stays fixed on the man beneath me, drinking in the flush on his face and the taut lines of his body as he strains to prolong the contact. He gasps out my name and I whimper, repeating the movement hastily. Dean’s eyes snap open.

 

“Cas, stop,” he growls. I freeze, breath catching. Dean is glaring up at me, his pupils blown wide and his jaw clenched. I can feel him trembling harshly. “What the fuck are you doing?”

 

I swallow, terrified that I’ve read the situation wrong and pushed myself onto Dean against his will. Shit, of course that’s what’s happened, I’m pinning him down and everything. It seemed like he wanted me though. Surely getting hard is a clear sign of arousal? But physical arousal and personal consent are not the same thing. I know this all too well from all the times I’ve suppressed my own reactions as an angel, and all the times I’ve wished I still could as a human. With a growing sense of horror and shame, I release Dean’s wrists and shift hastily, bringing us out of close contact although I’m still straddling him, leaning up and forward on trembling hands.

 

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” I whisper in a choked voice. Dean hasn’t moved; his hands are still on the mat above his head, although he curled them into tight fists when I let go of them. He drags an unsteady breath in through his nose before replying, his eyes burning with fury.

 

“You can’t just... What the hell makes you think I want that?”

 

I frown, guilt turning to confusion turning to anger. How can he ask that? How can he place all of the blame for this onto me? I had perfectly valid reasons to think that Dean was attracted to me. Indignant, I answer in a low, sarcastic tone, the hurt hidden behind the bite in my words.

 

“Oh, I don’t know, Dean. Probably the fact that you got an erection as soon as we made prolonged physical contact. Not to mention the one you had in my bed the other morning.”

 

Dean sucks in a breath, eyes popping wide and filling with shock. He shakes his head in pointless denial and I dig my fingers into the mat, leaning closer as rage bubbles up inside me, an anger that I didn’t know I possessed until now. Human emotions are so volatile.

 

“Yes, you fucking did. I know because I felt it. I know because I had one too, which I had to get rid of as soon as you left, and do you know what I thought about while I did that? You. It’s always you, Dean Winchester, and that’s been fine until now, but as a human? This desire is incredibly frustrating. It’s tiring and upsetting and distracting and I am growing sick of it, so please, do not lie there and pretend that you are completely innocent in the matter.”

 

I’m practically snarling at him by the time I finish, inches away from his face. He’s utterly still, unblinking as his gaze flickers between my eyes. My scowl fades and I falter, shocked at myself. I certainly didn’t intend to let all of that pour out. I didn’t even know that I was hurting. A dull ache over Dean Winchester was a constant in my life long before I became a human. I swallow, uncertainty rising in my gut as I stare down into Dean’s piercing green eyes, still hovering low over him. He breathes fast and shallow, licking his lips quickly before he speaks:

 

“You thought about me?”

 

I frown, my brain not really keeping up. “Yes.”

 

I process his question some more and almost immediately ask one of my own, unsure. “Wait, when?”

 

An odd flash of something like a smile gleams in Dean’s eyes, tender and strong if swiftly masked, and it makes me brave. I lean even closer, searching his gaze.

 

“Not that it matters,” I whisper, feeling vulnerable but very sure that I need to make this clear to him. “I am always thinking of you, Dean.”

 

His throat works as he swallows and he looks caught between scared and elated. I allow my gaze to drift down to his mouth, parted and tempting as always. I’m leaning ludicrously low over him and I bite my lip as I shift to bring us back into lower body contact. We’re both still hard. I have no clue what is happening here but it’s clearly arousing enough to eclipse what should be awkward and confusing. He catches his breath and when I look back into his eyes, they’re pleading.

 

“What are we, Cas?” he mumbles, flushed and frightened and gorgeous. “What the hell is this?”

 

I stretch my arms out above his head, heels of my curled hands sliding steadily forward on the mat, a little drunk on the burst of courage that’s snuck up on me in the face of Dean’s crumbling defences. My abdomen and chest brush down against his and I can’t keep the excitement or the desire or the pure worship out of my eyes as I hold Dean’s captivated gaze from centimetres away. I feel reckless and impatient and very, very human.

 

“Everything,” I murmur, the word a promise breathed against lips which a moment later, I finally claim with my own.

 

My eyes drift closed as I press down gently, fascinated by how soft yet firm Dean’s mouth is, light-headed at my own boldness. Dean makes a noise that isn’t quite a sound but reverberates through us both anyway; a sort of gasping sigh, pulling in and echoing out at the same time. It feels like relief and I hum slightly in agreement, moving my lips gently in a hesitant caress. Dean responds slowly, the air around us warming despite the coolness of the room. I shiver and gather this moment to me, memorising the sensations in obsessive detail, hoarding it in case it’s all I’ll ever have. Oddly, the bursts of pleasure radiating from every miniscule shift of my crotch are merely a vague backdrop to what seems important to me: Dean’s heartbeat pressed near mine, the smell of his drying sweat, the way his lips are shy but eager.

 

I open my mouth very slightly, unsure whether I even want to push this. But Dean seems to get it, whatever ‘it’ is, and he responds by parting his own lips and inhaling briefly from me in a startlingly intimate gesture. I chase his mouth and he fits his open lips to mine only to close them again, dragging mine closed with them and then pulling away infinitesimally. When he presses back again it’s sweet and quite chaste.

 

I’m oddly relieved by his unexpected modesty. It’s entirely contradicted by the way I keep unconsciously rolling my groin against his or the way he bucks a little beneath me every time, but the innocence of the kiss itself is perfect. Dean Winchester might be the most perfect damn thing in the universe, even if he’s a self-hating mess who can’t seem to let himself have anything he wants without an agony of doubt and denial. Overcome with affection, I break the kiss and pull back enough to open my eyes and stare down at him. Green eyes flutter open a moment later and Dean looks dazed, his shocked expression tempered by flushed cheeks and pink lips.

 

“I love you,” I inform him, not really meaning to say it out loud but not very surprised to find that I have. Dean freezes up and I shake my head. “You don’t have to respond to that, don’t worry. I just wanted to clarify it as fact.”

 

“Cas...” he breathes, all reverent eyes and flustered glow, and my heart stutters because he may as well have said it back. I swoop down again to share my smile with him, suddenly eager to push this as far as Dean is willing to go. I twitch against him as his hands suddenly materialise on my thighs, sending a hot thrill through me. This time Dean is the one to open his mouth, coaxing my lips apart with each dragging, drugging kiss. I’m making pleased and surprised noises which I know full well are broadcasting my almost total inexperience in this area. I don’t care. Dean knows me and judging by his roaming hands and straining hips, he doesn’t care either.

 

It’s as the gentle bumping of clothed flesh is developing into purposeful grinding that I hear it. Faint but unmistakable. I break away from the hypnotic sensation of Dean’s tongue on mine to stare down at him in dismay.

 

“Sam is looking for you,” I inform him reluctantly, in a hoarse and breathless voice. Dean blinks at me, eyes hugely dilated and brow scrunching endearingly in confusion. Then Sam’s searching voice sounds again, closer this time. He’ll reach the gym in less than half a minute.

 

Dean’s mouth snaps shut and his face closes off. I feel my rushed, astonished sense of happiness and completion waver and crumple as he yanks his hands out from under my shirt and shoves hard at my chest. The reaction is clearly a panicked reflex but the horror in his eyes at the prospect of being caught by Sam leaves no room for me, and it hurts. Wordlessly and resignedly I push back onto my knees, cringing a little at how bereft I feel away from his body. Also, my erection has not managed to go away in the past several seconds and it feels entirely uncomfortable to be this suddenly dejected with physical arousal still muddling my senses. Looking down at Dean in front of me does nothing to help; he’s still half-hard too and it’s extremely obvious in the thin sweatpants. He scrambles back and it’s only once he puts some distance between us that he seems to really look at my face.

 

“Cas- I-”

 

“It’s alright, Dean, I understand,” I hush him, although I don’t, not really. Dean pushes up to face me on his knees, now gazing beseechingly at me with those sad green eyes, and I scramble to my feet to avoid kissing him again. Dean does the same and we stare silently at each other as Sam’s footsteps approach. Tearing my gaze away and fighting down a sense of frustrated injustice, I turn and walk across to the other side of the room, picking up a small set of weights with no idea if I’m holding it correctly. I hear Sam enter the room behind me, hear his exclaimed greeting, raise a hand in acknowledgment without looking up. Dean is talking, his voice forced and husky.

 

I stare unseeingly at the dumbbell in my hand, feeling weighed down in more ways than one.


	17. Chapter 17

Sam wants Dean to take a look at a possible case that’s close enough to come home from at night. I don’t meet Dean’s eyes as I watch them leave, not wanting to see the guilt and anguish and defensiveness that I know will be there. I linger in the gym for ten more minutes, my mind struggling to predict what will happen next between us. I know what I want to happen: I want Dean to stroll up to me at dinner and tell me that he’s thought about it carefully and he feels the same way as I do and he’s completely comfortable with that and we should move into the same bedroom and kiss some more and be totally honest with each other for the rest of our lives.

 

But this is Dean Winchester, and that’s simply not how he operates.

 

Instead, I think about what is most likely to happen. Dean will undoubtedly be panicking and building up his walls. I can’t properly fathom what his reasons are for being so terrified of exploring his romantic feelings for me - because I no longer doubt that he has them - but I’d guess at a blend of irrational subconscious homophobia, irrational self-loathing and a borderline rational fear of ruining our friendship. Dean is exhausting.

 

There’s not much I can do about any insecurities he might harbour regarding his sexuality, but the simple fact of his physical attraction to me will counterbalance that and eventually he’ll probably outgrow it. The self-loathing is also nothing I can fix in the short term, although if I’m going to set myself one long-term goal for my lifetime then getting Dean to love himself is the worthiest one I can think of.

 

Maybe the best thing I can do right now, then, is ameliorate any worries Dean may have about disrupting the relationship we already share. I should just be his friend and show him that it really doesn’t matter what happens between us. We can make out on the gym floor and he can run away afterwards in a flurry of emotion and I will still be there for him, regardless of whether he’s annoyed or offended me. And he’s done both of those things. But forgiving Dean is something I’m good at.

 

Nodding decisively, I leave the gym and head to the bathroom. I’m intending to shower quickly, aware that it’s dinner soon, but as I roll my aching shoulders under the hot water my mind drifts and suddenly, I’m replaying every nanosecond of contact between Dean and me. The way he looked, the way he smelled, the way he tasted, the sounds he made, the way he felt against me, under me...

 

It happens fast. The excitement and the heady desire come back to me in a tumbling rush and before I make any conscious decision about it, my hand is wrapping and squeezing and moving and I’m leaning back against the tiles, steam dragging into my lungs and eyes screwing shut. My head is a mess of lust-blown green eyes and rough groans against my tongue, calloused fingers sinking into the muscles of my back, teeth tugging and nipping at my lower lip. I don’t have to think about how to touch myself because my fingers seem to respond directly to every shift and sigh of the Dean in my memory, instinct picking me up and carrying me into the heights of pleasure. It’s a simple but hypnotising thought that finally pushes me over the edge of completion: does Dean think about me when he does this?

 

I gasp his name helplessly as my mind numbs and I almost slide down the shower wall, weak and trembling. Shit, that was more intense than last time. I brace my hands on my bent knees and lean forward a little, panting, my wet hair dripping into my eyes. It’s another minute or so before I wash myself clean and turn the water off. Stretching and sighing, I make my way to my room and put on jeans and two shirts as well as socks. It must be time for dinner by now.

 

I pad into the kitchen feeling only slightly nervous. I’m determined to treat Dean as normally as possible. I will not have any part in creating distance between us.

 

Dean isn’t there.

 

Sam and Kevin are already eating, a large bowl of mashed potato sitting on the table between them. A smaller bowl of peas sits beside it and Kevin is spooning some onto his plate as I sit down slowly. Both men have steaks on their plates and the plate in front of me does too. I stare at the meat before raising my eyes to find Sam watching me thoughtfully.

 

“You OK, Cas?” he asks me seriously, and I can see that he knows something happened before he walked into the gym. I shrug at him in a non-committal way.

 

“Where is Dean?” I ask without bothering to hide the slight sharpness in my voice. Kevin pushes the potato towards me silently and I nod my thanks, spooning a small amount onto my plate. Sam grimaces a little.

 

“In his room. He grabbed a beer and went in there as soon as he could after I interrupted you guys training. Told me he wasn’t hungry. Is, uh, everything OK?”

 

I frown as I serve myself peas. “Probably not, Sam. I’ll talk to him, though.”

 

Sam eyes me for a moment before nodding and turning his attention to his food. I’m a little surprised and relieved that he’s dropped the subject so quickly. It occurs to me that Sam actually trusts me to fix what’s bothering Dean and I’m suddenly immensely grateful to him for that. The Winchester brothers are so deeply involved with each other that it can’t be a small thing for Sam to step back like this.

 

I eat quickly, trying to think of what I can say to Dean to reassure him that nothing bad is happening or is going to happen. To convince him that if he just stays calm and allows himself to reach out for what he wants, something very good might happen. I finish my meal - it’s pleasant but nowhere near as good as what Dean has cooked since I became human - and thank Sam and Kevin as I wash my plate and cutlery. They’re comparing thoughts on an Enochian symbol and I slip out of the room practically unnoticed.

 

Dean’s door seems very tall and thick when I reach it. I raise my fist and knock firmly, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling of fear and uncertainty gnawing at me. I hear a distinct sigh from within followed by Dean’s annoyed response:

 

“Sam, just leave it, I told you I’m fine.”

 

I roll my eyes and call back a reply, my voice wry.

 

“I’m not Sam, and you’re not fine, Dean. Could I please come in?”

 

There’s a still silence before I hear a shuffling noise and the door creaks open. Dean’s face appears in the gap, wary and frowning.

 

“Cas.”

 

I tilt my head at him. “Yes.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“You,” I tell him honestly, and his eyes widen in shock. I continue quickly. “But right now I just wish to speak with you. So will you let me in?”

 

He stares blankly at me for several uncomfortable seconds before abruptly pulling the door open and gesturing me inside. I almost sag with relief but keep my expression neutral as I walk in and turn back to face him. Dean shuts the door and then leans back against it, folding his arms tightly and regarding me with poorly disguised fear. It hurts.

 

“So I’m guessing you’re here to talk about earlier,” Dean says sharply when I stay silent for several seconds. I nod slowly, unsure of how to proceed.

 

“I am. I don’t want to ignore it or pretend it never happened. I can’t do that this time, Dean.”

 

Eyes on the floor, he hesitates and then nods quickly. “OK. I dunno what you think is about to happen instead though.”

 

Frustration begins to gnaw at me. “Well, what would normally happen at this point? We’re both people, Dean. We’re even both human. What do humans do when they feel this way about each other?”

 

“As if I know,” hisses Dean, green eyes flashing resentfully at me. “Nothing about this situation is normal. And how exactly do I feel, huh? Please, tell me, I’d love to know. I’m so glad that you’re such a fucking expert.”

 

I make an irritated grinding noise in my throat and turn away, fists clenched at my sides. Most of the time it’s all too easy to practically worship Dean, but right now I can barely believe that I’m in love with someone who’s this ridiculously difficult. My human mind can only seem to deal with one major emotion at a time and it’s currently stuck on anger.

 

“You’re being incredibly stupid,” I inform him harshly, eyes on the wall. Dean snorts.

 

“Yeah, well, that’s me. That’s what you get. Not exactly first prize, sorry.”

 

That makes me pause, enough to calm down and think about what’s really going on. This all seems too deliberate. Is Dean actually trying to push me away? He seems to be displaying his worst side in an almost calculated manner. But why?

 

Exhaling slowly, I loosen my hands and turn back to face Dean with a speculative gaze. He’s still wrapped around himself, hunched and wounded looking, the spiky irritation on his face a thin mask. I step closer and he flinches.

 

“There’s nothing you can say or do that will make me leave you, Dean,” I say softly. He blinks at me, obviously perplexed. I continue steadily. “Not for good. You can lash out and hurt me enough that I’ll walk out of this room, but I’ll come back. And you can do it again, and again, and even if you never stop, neither will I. I will never be gone for good.”

 

“Now who’s being stupid?” Dean mutters, but his arms have dropped a little and he’s peering at me as though hoping I’ll say more. I smile at him.

 

“Yes, maybe it is stupid of me. Self-destructive and unhealthy and foolish. But it’s the way things are, the way they’ve been for years now. I can’t change the way I feel about you, and I don’t want to. It’s a fact, Dean, that I love you. It will always be fact.”

 

I watch him closely as I speak and I see his throat bob as he swallows heavily. “Cas...”

 

“It’s OK,” I interrupt, putting a hand up to silence him. “Take your time. We’re friends, and that won’t change. But please, don’t be afraid of me. Being closer than we are now could make us both happy, Dean, but even if it falls apart we’ll still be friends, and I’ll still love you, because those are facts of you and me.”

 

Dean’s eyes are soft now, the tension gone from his shoulders. “Family.”

 

I blink at his response. “What?”

 

“You keep saying we’re friends, but we’re more than that. We’re family. And... look, yeah, maybe something else too.”

 

I break into a relieved grin and he smiles back shyly before speaking, one hand still wrapped around the opposite elbow and the other relaxed at his side. “I’ll think about it, Cas. I promise. I just need some time and space. This shit messes me up. I’m sorry...”

 

“That’s fine!” I say, probably a little too quickly. I’m just so light-headed with delight that Dean is opening up to me and being honest. I beam at him and he gazes back at me for several seconds before blinking and ducking his head.

 

“OK, get outta here, sunshine,” he mumbles, reaching behind him and pulling open the door. I can hear the smile in his voice and I want to kiss it very, very much. I walk past him without touching him, though. I just need to trust Dean to make his way to trusting me and maybe, just maybe, things will be the way they should be.

 

“Cas?”

 

I turn back so quickly that I almost overbalance and Dean smirks at me, leaning his temple against the doorframe. I flush and glare at him without any heat. He eyes me for a second, hand on the door, lingering before he pulls it shut.

 

“See you tomorrow?”

 

I smile softly. “I told you. I’m not going anywhere. See you tomorrow, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this is all of Part One: Escalation! The next instalment will be called 'Complication' and I'll start publishing it soon :D Any suggestions as to what I can call the whole series? Right now I'm thinking 'Fallen and falling' but it's so lame. I'm crap at titles, help me! Thanks so much to all who are following. Don't worry, this isn't the end! xxx


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